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SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 


BY  GEORGE  BARR  McCUTCHEON 

GBAUSTABK 

CASTILE  CRANEYCROW 

BREWSTER'S  MILLIONS 

THE  SHERRODS 

THE  DAT  OF  THE  Doo 

BEVERLY  OF  GRAUSTARK 

THE  PURPLE  PABASOL 

NEDRA 

COWAJRDICE  COURT 

JANE  CABLE 

THE  FLYERS 

THE  DAUGHTER  OF  ANDERSON  CROW 

THE  HUSBANDS  OF  EDITH 

THE  MAN  FROM  BRODNEY'S 

THE  ALTERNATIVE 

TRUXTON  KING 

THE  BUTTERFLY  MAN 

THE  ROSE  IN  THE  RING 

WHAT'S- HIS-NAME 

MARY  MIDTHORNE 

HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HANDS 

A  FOOL  AND  His  MONEY 

BLACK  Is  WHITE 

THE  PRINCE  OF  GRAUBTARK 

MR.  BINGLE 

THE  LIGHT  THAT  LIES 

FROM  THE  HOUSETOPS 

GREEN  FANCY 

SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON 


m/m      vHk 


VERY  GOOD,  CAPTAIN  !    ORDERS  is  ORDERS,  SIR.  ' '    SHE 

STOOD  OFF  AND  SALUTED  HIM  WITH  MOCK  SOLEMNITY 

(Page  66) 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 


BY 
GEORGE  BARR  McCUTCHEON 

Author  of  "Graustark,"  "The  Hollow  of  Her  Hand," 
"Brewster's  Millions,"  etc. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

F.   R.  GRUGER 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
1918 


COPYRIGHT,  1918 
BY  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANT,  INC. 


:iO"ii  • 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"Very  good,  Captain!  Orders  is  orders, 
sir."  She  stood  off  and  saluted  him 
with  mock  solemnity.  (Page  66)  Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

Carstairs  took  up  the  receiver.  He  realized  that 
his  hand  trembled.  He  had  never  known  it  to 
happen  before,  even  in  moments  of  great  stress  36 

They  did  not  speak  until  they  reached  a  deserted 
corner  of  the  hotel  lobby  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  94 

Carstairs  sprang  to  his  feet.  For  an  instant  a 
flash  of  joy  transfigured  his  face 150 


M22166 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

CHAPTER  I       ^  '<  V  - 


FOE  thirty  seconds  no  one  moved.  •" 
An  odd  sort  of  paralysis  seemed  to  have 
gripped  every  one  in  the  room, — paralysis  of 
the  mind  as  well  as  of  the  body. 

Then  puzzled,  wondering  looks  were  ex 
changed. 

A  man  sitting  near  the  fireplace  glanced 
sharply,  apprehensively  at  the  huge  beams  in 
the  ceiling  and  muttered : 

"What  was  it?  Sounded  as  though  some 
thing  had  smashed  in  the  roof.  There's  a  tre 
mendous  wind.  It  may  have  got  that  big  tree 
at  the  corner  of  the  locker  room." 

"It  couldn't  have  been  thunder, — not  at  this 
time  of  the  year,"  said  one  of  the  women,  send 
ing  a  nervous,  frightened  look  at  her  husband 
who  sprawled  ungracefully  in  a  big  Morris  chair 
at  the  end  of  a  table  littered  with  newspapers 
and  magazines. 

1 


2  SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON 

"  'Gad,  did  you  feel  the  house  rock?"  ex 
claimed  he,  sitting  up  suddenly,  his  eyes  nar 
rowing  as  with  pain.  "Like  an  earthquake 

$~"* 

"  "It  couldn't  have  been  an  earthquake,"  inter* 

'ilipted  1&  wife,  starting  up  from  her  chair. 

"Why  couldn't  it?"  he  demanded  crossly, 
and  then  glanced  around  at  the  other  occupants 
of  the  room, — ten  or  a  dozen  men  and  women 
seated  in  a  wide  semi-circle  in  front  of  the  huge 
logs  blazing  in  the  fireplace.  "What  do  you 
think  it  was,  Zimmie  ? ' ' 

"We'll  find  part  or  all  of  the  roof  gone," 
answered  the  man  addressed.  As  he  spoke,  he 
rose  quickly  and  started  across  the  room  in  the 
direction  of  the  door  leading  to  the  steward's 
pantry.  "Ill  have  a  look  from  the  back  of 
the—" 

He  stopped  short.  The  dull,  ripping  crash 
that  had  startled  them  was  repeated,  this  time  a 
little  louder  and  more  prolonged  than  before. 
The  club-house  shook.  Several  of  the  men 
sprang  to  their  feet  in  alarm.  A  look  of  com 
prehension  shot  among  them. 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  3 

"By  Gad!  An  explosion !"  cried  one  of 
them.  *  '  The  damned  beasts  I ' ' 

"The  Reynolds  Works  I"  cried  another,  grip 
ping  the  back  of  his  chair  with  tense  fingers. 
"Sure  as  you're  alive!  It's  only  a  few  miles 
from  here.  Nothing  else  could  have — " 

"Let's  go  home,  Ned.  The  children — some 
thing  may  have  happened — you  never  can 
toll-" 

"Don't  get  excited,  Betty,"  cried  the  man  in 
the  Morris  chair.  She  was  shaking  his  arm. 
"The  children  are  in  New  York,  twenty  miles 
away.  They're  all  right,  old  girl.  Lord! 
What  a  smash  it  was !" 

The  group  was  silent,  waiting  with  bated 
breath  for  the  third  and  perhaps  more  shocks 
to  come. 

The  club  steward  came  into  the  room,  bearing 
a  tray  of  bottles  and  glasses.  His  face  was 
ashen;  there  was  a  set  expression  about  it,  as 
one  who  controls  his  nerves  with  difficulty. 

"Did  you  hear  it,  Peter?"  was  the  innocuous 
inquiry  of  one  of  the  men,  a  dapper  youn#  fel 
low  in  corduroys. 


4  SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON 

"Yes,  Mr.  Cribbs.  I  thought  at  first  it  was 
the  roof,  sir.  The  chef  said  it  was  the  big  chim 
ney—" 

"  Never  mind  the  drinks,  Peter, "  said  a  tall, 
greyish  man  as  the  steward  placed  the  glasses 
on  the  table.  "We've  lost  what  little  thirst  we 
had.  Where  are  the  Eeynolds  Works  from 
here!" 

Peter  looked  surprised.  "South,  sir, — be 
yond  the  hills.  About  five  miles,  I  should  say, 
Mr.  Carstairs." 

"And  which  way  is  south?"  inquired  one  of 
the  women.  "I  am  always  turned  around  when 
I  am  in  the  country."  She  was  a  singularly 
pallid,  clear-featured  woman  of  perhaps  forty- 
five.  One  might  surmise  that  at  twenty  she  had 
been  lovely,  even  exquisite. 

"This  way,  Mrs.  Carstairs,"  said  the  stew 
ard,  starting  toward  the  windows  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  lounge. 

The  man  who  had  been  addressed  as  Zimmie 
was  already  at  one  of  the  broad  windows,  peer 
ing  out  into  the  black,  windy  night. 

"Can't  see  a  thing,"  he  said,  as  the  others 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  5 

crowded  about  him.  "The  shops  are  off  there 
in  a  direct  line  with  the  home  green,  I  should 
say." 

"I  happen  to  know  that  the  Allies  have  a  fif 
teen  million  dollar  contract  with  the  Reynolds 
people,"  said  Carstairs,  looking  hard  into  the 
blackness. 

"If  they'd  string  up  a  few  of  these  infernal — 
There!  See  the  glow  coming  up  over  the  hill? 
She's  afire!  And  with  this  wind, — 'gad,  she'll 
go  like  waste  paper !  My  God,  I  wish  the  whole 
German  Army  was  sitting  on  top  of  those  build 
ings  right  now."  It  was  little  Mr.  Cribbs  who 
spoke.  He  was  shaking  like  a  leaf. 

"I'd  rather  see  a  million  or  two  of  these 
so-called  German-Americans  sitting  there, 
Cribbs,"  said  Carstairs,  between  his  teeth. 
" There 'd  be  some  satisfaction  in  that." 

His  wife  nudged  him  sharply.  He  turned  and 
caught  the  warning  look  in  her  eye  and  the 
slight  movement  of  her  head  in  the  direction  of 
the  man  called  Zimmie. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  cried  Carstairs  care 
lessly.  "You  needn't  punch  me,  dear.  Zim- 


6  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

mie  's  as  good  an  American  as  any  of  us.  Don't 
think  for  a  moment,  Zimmie,  old  chap,  that  I  in 
clude  you  in  the  gang  I'd  like  to  see  sitting  on 
that  pile  of  shells  over  there." 

The  man  at  the  window  turned,  and  smiled 
affably. 

"  Thanks,  old  man.  Being,  as  you  say,  as 
good  an  American  as  any  of  you,  I  may  be  per 
mitted  to  return  the  compliment.  I  shouldn't 
like  to  see  Mrs.  Carstairs  sitting  on  that  pile  of 
shells. " 

Carstairs  flushed.  An  angry  light  leaped  to 
his  eyes,  but  it  was  banished  almost  instantly. 
Mrs.  Carstairs  herself  replied. 

"I  can't  imagine  anything  more  distasteful," 
she  drawled. 

"But  Mrs.  Carstairs  isn't  a  German,"  put  in 
little  Mr.  Cribbs,  somewhat  tartly  for  him. 

6 '  You  're  always  saying  the  wrong  thing, 
Cribbs, — or  the  right  thing  at  the  wrong  time," 
said  Carstairs.  "Mrs.  Carstairs  is  not  Ger 
man.  Her  father  and  mother  were,  however. 
She's  in  the  same  fix  as  Zimmerlein,  and  she 
isn't  ashamed  of  it  any  more  than  Zimmie  is," 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  7 

"I  had — er — no  idea  that  Mrs.  Carstairs 
was — " 

"What  were  your  parents,  Mr.  Cribbs?" 
asked  Mrs.  Carstairs  calmly. 

'  '  Nebraskans, ' '  said  Cribbs,  stiffening.  ' i  My 
grandfather  was  a  Welshman." 

"And  so  you  have  absolutely  nothing  to  re 
proach  yourself  with,"  said  she.  "How  fortu 
nate  in  these  days." 

"I'm  sorry,  Mrs.  Carstairs,  if  I — " 

"I  was  born  in  the  United  States,"  she  said, 
without  a  trace  of  annoyance,  "but  not  in  Ne 
braska.  You  have  the  advantage  of  me  there, 
I  fear.  And  of  poor  Mr.  Zimmerlein,  too.  He 
was  born  in  Boston, — were  you  not?" 

"In  Marlborough  Street,"  said  Zimmerlein, 
drily.  "My  father  was  Irish,  as  you  can  tell 
by  me  name,  and  me  poor  mither  was  Irish  too. 
Her  name  before  marriage  was  Krausshof." 

Mr.  Cribbs 's  face  was  scarlet.  To  cover  his 
confusion,  he  wedged  his  way  a  little  closer  to 
the  windows  and  glared  at  the  dull  red  light 
that  crept  slowly  out  of  the  darkness  off  to  the 
south.  The  crests  of  the  hills  were  beginning 


8  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

to  take  shape  against  a  background  shot  with 
crimson. 

' i  Just  the  same,"  he  muttered,  "I'd  like  to  see 
the  men  who  are  responsible  for  that  fire  over 
there  burning  in  hell. ' ' 

"I  think  we  can  agree  on  that  point,  at  least, 
Mr.  Cribbs,"  said  Zimmerlein,  with  dignity. 

"Who  wants  to  run  over  there  with  me  in 
my  car  ? ' '  cried  the  other,  excitedly.  * '  It  's  only 
a  few  miles,  and  it  must  be  a  wonderful  sight.  I 
can  take  six  or  seven — " 

"Stay  where  you  are,  Cribbs,"  said  Carstairs 
sharply.  "When  those  shells  begin  to  go  off 
— Why,  man  alive,  there's  never  been  anything 
on  the  French  front  that  could  hold  a  candle  to 
it.  Don't  forget  what  happened  when  Black 
Tom  pier  was  blown  up.  Pray  do  not  be 
alarmed,  ladies.  There  isn't  the  slightest  dan 
ger  here.  The  shells  they  are  making  at  the 
Reynolds  plant  are  comparatively  small. 
We're  safely  out  of  range." 

"What  size  shells  were  they  making,  Car- 
stairs?"  inquired  one  of  the  men. 

"Three  inch,  I  believe — and  smaller.    A  lot 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  9 

of  machine-gun  ammunition,  too.  Cox,  the  gen 
eral  manager,  dined  with  us  the  other  night. 
He  talked  a  little  too  freely,  I  thought, — didn't 
you,  Frieda?" 

"He  boasted,  if  that  is  what  you  mean,"  said 
Mrs.  Carstairs. 

"Well,"  said  a  big,  red-faced  man  on  the 
outer  edge  of  the  group,  "it's  time  some  of  these 
blooming  fools  learned  how  to  keep  their  mouths 
shut.  The  country's  full  of  spies, — running 
over  with  'em.  You  never  know  when  you're 
talking  to  one." 

Silence  followed  his  remark.  For  some  time 
they  all  stood  watching  the  crimson  cloud  in  the 
distance,  an  ever-changing,  pulsing  shadow  that 
throbbed  to  the  temper  of  the  wind. 

They  represented  the  reluctant  element  of  a 
large  company  that  had  spent  the  afternoon  and 
early  evening  at  the  Black  Downs  Country  Club, 
— the  element  that  is  always  reluctant  to  go 
home.  There  had  been  many  intimate  little 
dinner  parties  during  the  evening.  New  York 
was  twenty  miles  or  more  away,  and  there  was 
the  Hudson  in  between.  The  clock  above  the 


10  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

huge  fireplace  had  struck  eleven  a  minute  or  two 
before  the  first  explosion  took  place.  Chauf 
feurs  in  the  club-garage  were  sullenly  cursing 
their  employers.  All  but  two  or  three  waiters 
had  gone  off  to  the  railway  station  not  far  away, 
and  the  musicians  had  made  the  10 :30  up-train. 
Peter,  the  steward,  lived  on  the  premises  with 
the  chef  and  several  house  employes. 

The  late-staying  guests  were  clad  in  sport 
clothes,  rough  and  warm  and  smart, — for  it  was 
one  of  the  smartest  clubs  in  the  Metropolitan 
district. 

A  fierce  October  gale  was  whining,  cold  and 
bitter  and  relentless,  across  the  uplands ;  storm- 
warnings  had  gone  out  from  the  Weather  Bu 
reau  ;  coast-wise  vessels  were  scurrying  for  har 
bours  and  farmers  all  over  the  land  had  made 
snug  their  livestock  against  the  uncertain  ele 
ments. 

If  it  turned  out  to  be  true  that  the  vast  Rey 
nolds  munitions  plant  had  been  blown  up,  the 
plotters  could  not  have  chosen  a  more  auspi 
cious  night  for  their  enterprise.  No  human  force 
could  combat  the  flames  on  a  night  like  this; 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  11 

caught  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  there  would  be 
no  stopping  them  until  the  ashes  of  ruin  lay  wet 
and  sodden  where  the  flight  had  begun. 

Mrs.  Carstairs  was  the  first  to  turn  away  from 
the  windows.  She  shuddered  a  little.  A 
pretty,  nervous  young  wife  sidled  up  to  her, 
and  laid  a  trembling  hand  on  her  arm. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  dreadful  if  there  were  a  lot 
of  people  at  work  over  there  when — when  it 
happened?"  she  cried,  in  a  tense,  strained  voice. 
' '  Just  think  of  it. " 

"Don't  think  about  it,  Alice  dear.  Think  of 
what  they  are  going  through  in  France  and  Bel 
gium.  ' ' 

"But  we  really  aren't  fighting  them  yet," 
went  on  the  other,  plaintively.  "Why  should 
they  blow  up  our  factories?  Oh,  these  dread 
ful,  terrible  Germans. "  Then  suddenly,  in  con 
fusion:  "I — I  beg  your  pardon." 

Mrs.  Carstairs  smiled  pleasantly.  "That's 
all  right,  my  dear.  A  good  many  of  us  suffer 
for  the  sins  of  the  fathers.  Besides,  we  are  in 
the  war,  and  have  been  for  six  months  or 
more. ' 9 


12  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

"We  all  hate  the  Kaiser,  don't  we?"  pleaded 
the  younger  woman. 

Mrs.  Carstairs  pressed  her  arm.  "None 
more  so  than  those  of  us  whose  parents  left 
Germany  to  escape  such  as  he." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that." 

"Beg  pardon,"  said  Peter  the  steward,  at 
Mrs.  Carstairs'  elbow.  "I  think  this  is  yours. 
You  dropped  it  just  now." 

"Thank  you,  Peter,"  said  she,  taking  the 
crumpled  handkerchief  he  handed  her.  "I 
shan't  drop  it  again,"  she  went  on,  smiling  as 
she  stuffed  it  securely  in  the  gold  mesh  bag 
she  was  carrying. 

'  '  Peter  is  such  a  splendid  man,  isn  't  he  ? "  said 
her  young  companion,  lowering  her  voice.  ' '  So 
much  more  willing  and  agreeable  than  old 
Crosby.  We're  all  so  glad  the  change  was 
made." 

"He  is  most  efficient,"  said  Mrs.  Carstairs. 

The  admirable  Peter  approached  Mr.  Car- 
stairs  and  Zimmerlein,  who  were  pouring  drinks 
for  themselves  at  the  table. 

"Preparedness  is  the  word  of  the  hour,"  Car- 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  13 

stairs  was  saying,  as  he  raised  his  glass.  "It's 
a  long,  cold  ride  home." 

"Excuse  me,  gentlemen,  shall  I  call  up  Cen 
tral  at  Bushleigh  and  see  if  they  can  give  us  any 
news?"  asked  Peter. 

"You  might  try.  I  don't  believe  you  can  get 
a  connection,  however.  Everything  must  be 
knocked  galley-west  over  on  that  side  of  the 
ridge." 

"I  think  your  wife  is  signalling  you,  Car- 
stairs,"  said  Zimmerlein,  looking  over  the 
other's  shoulder. 

Carstairs  tossed  off  the  contents  of  the  glass, 
and  reached  out  his  hand  for  the  check.  Zim 
merlein  already  had  it  in  his  fingers. 

"I'll  sign  it,  old  chap,"  he  said.  "Give  me 
your  pencil,  Peter." 

"None  of  that,  Zimmie.    I  ordered  the — " 

"Run  along,  old  man,  your  wife —  He's  com 
ing,  Mrs.  Carstairs,"  called  out  Zimmerlein. 

As  Carstairs  turned  away,  Zimmerlein 
scratched  his  name  across  the  check,  and  handed 
it  back  to  the  steward. 

"Under  no  circumstances  are  you  to  call  up 


14  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

Bushleigh,"  fell  m  low,  distinct  tones  from  his 
lips.  *  '  Do  you  understand  1 ' ' 

Peter's  hand  shook.    His  face  was  livid. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  muttered.  "What  shall  I  say 
to  Mr.  Carstairs?" 

"Say  that  no  one  answers,"  said  the  other, 
and  walked  away. 

The  company  had  recovered  its  collective  and 
individual  power  of  speech.  Every  one  was 
talking, — loudly,  excitedly,  and  in  some  cases 
violently.  Some  were  excoriating  the  Germans, 
others  were  bitterly  criticizing  the  Government 
for  its  over-tenderness,  and  still  others  were 
blaming  themselves  for  not  taking  the  law  in 
their  own  hands  and  making  short  work  of  the 
"soap-boxers,"  the  "pacifists,"  and  the  "ob 
structionists."  Little  Mr.  Cribbs  was  the  most 
violent  of  them  all.  He  was  for  organizing  the 
old-time  Vigilantes,  once  so  efficacious  in  the 
Far  West,  and  equipping  them  with  guns  and 
ropes  and  plenty  of  tar  and  feathers. 

"Nothing  would  please  me  more  than  to  lead 
such  a  gang, ' '  he  proclaimed.  *  '  Lead  'em  right 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  15 

into  these  foul  nests  where —  What's  that, 
Judge!" 

"I  repeat — How  old  are  you,  Cribbs?" 

"Oh,  I  guess  I'm  old  enough  to  shoot  a  gun, 
or  pull  a  rope  or  carry  a  bucket  of  tar,"  re 
torted  the  young  man. 

"I'll  put  it  the  other  way.  How  young  are 
you?" 

"I'm  twenty-nine." 

"I  see.    And  how  did  you  escape  the  draft?" 

* i  They  haven 't  reached  my  number  yet, ' '  said 
Mr.  Cribbs,  with  dignity. 

'  <  Well,  that 's  good.  There 's  still  hope, ' '  said 
the  Judge,  grimly.  "They  need  just  such  fire- 
eaters  as  you  over  there  in  France  with 
Pershing. ' ' 

Carstairs  turned  to  Zimmerlein,  who  was  be 
ing  helped  into  his  fur-coat  by  one  of  the  at 
tendants. 

"Can't  we  take  you  to  the  city,  Zimmerlein? 
There  is  plenty  of  room  in  the  car." 

"No,  thank  you,  Carstairs.  I'm  going  in  by 
train.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Prior  will  drop  me  at  the 


16  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

station.  Good  night.  Oh,  here 's  Peter.  What 
did  you  hear?" 

"I  could  get  no  answer,  Mr.  Zimmerlein, " 
said  the  steward  steadily.  "  Wires  may  be 
down,  sir." 

"Good  night,  Mrs.  Carstairs."  Zimmerlein 
held  out  his  hand.  She  hesitated  an  instant, 
and  then  took  it.  Her  gaze  was  fixed,  as  if 
fascinated,  on  his  dark,  steady  eyes. 


CHAPTER  II 

HOARSE,  raucous-voiced  newsboys  were 
crying  the  "  extras  "  soon  after  midnight. 
They  were  doing  a  thriving  business.  The  de 
struction  of  the  great  Reynolds  plant,  more 
spectacular  and  more  appalling  than  any  previ 
ous  deed  perpetrated  by  the  secret  enemies  of 
the  American  people,  was  to  drive  even  the  most 
sanguine  and  indifferent  citizen  to  a  full  reali- 
zaton  of  the  peril  that  stalked  him  and  his  fel 
low-man  throughout  the  land.  Complacent  se 
curity  was  at  last  to  sustain  a  shock  it  could  not 
afford  to  scorn.  Up  there  in  the  hills  of  Jer 
sey  a  bombardment  had  taken  place  that  rivalled 
in  violence,  if  not  in  human  toll,  the  most  vivid 
descriptions  of  shell-carnage  on  the  dripping 
fronts  of  France. 

Huge  but  vague  headlines  screamed  into  the 
faces  of  quick-breathing  men  and  wide-eyed 
women  the  first  details  of  the  great  disaster 
across  the  River. 

Night-farers,  threading  the  streets,  paused  in 

17 


18  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

their  round  of  pleasure  to  gulp  down  the  bitter 
thing  that  came  up  into  their  throats — a  sick 
thing  called  Fear.  From  nearly  every  doorway 
in  the  city,  some  one  issued  forth,  bleak-eyed 
and  anxious,  to  hail  the  scurrying  newsboys. 
The  distant  roar  of  the  shells  had  roused  the 
millions  in  Manhattan;  windows  rattled,  the 
frailer  dwellings  rocked  on  thin  foundations. 
It  was  not  until  the  clash  of  heavy  artillery 
swept  up  to  the  city  on  the  wind  from  the  west 
that  the  serene,  contemptuous  denizens  of  the 
greatest  city  in  the  world  cast  off  their  mask 
of  indifference  and  rose  as  one  person  to  ask  the 
vital  question:  Are  the  U-Boats  in  the  Har 
bour  at  last? 

An  elderly  man,  two  women,  and  a  sallow- 
faced  man  of  thirty  sat  by  the  windows  at  the 
top  of  a  lofty  apartment  building  on  the  Upper 
West  Side.  For  an  hour  they  had  been  sitting 
there,  listening,  and  looking  always  to  the  west, 
out  over  the  dark  and  sombre  Hudson.  Father, 
mother,  daughter  and  son.  The  first  explosion 
jarred  the  great  building  in  which  they  were 
securely  housed. 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  19 

"Ah I"  sighed  the  old  man,  and  it  was  a  sigh 
of  relief,  of  satisfaction.  The  others  turned  to 
him  and  smiled  for  the  first  time  in  hours.  The 
tension  was  over. 

Farther  down-town  two  men  in  one  of  the  big 
hotels  silently  shook  hands,  bade  each  other  a 
friendly  good-night  for  the  benefit  of  chance 
observers,  and  went  off  to  bed.  The  waiting 
was  over. 

Two  night  watchmen  met  in  front  of  one  of 
the  biggest  office  buildings  in  New  York,  within 
hearing  of  the  bells  of  Trinity  and  almost  within 
sound  of  the  sobbing  waters  of  the  Bay.  Their 
faces,  rendered  almost  invisible  behind  the  great 
collars  that  protected  them  from  the  shrill 
winds  coming  up  the  canyons  from  the  sea, 
were  tense  and  drawn  and  white,  but  their  eyes 
glittered  brightly,  fiercely,  in  the  darkness. 
They  too  had  been  waiting. 

In  a  dingy  apartment  in  Harlem,  three  shifty- 
eyed,  nervous  men,  and  a  pallid,  tired,  fright 
ened  woman  rose  suddenly  from  the  lethargy 
of  suspense  and  grinned  evilly,  not  at  each 
other  but  at  the  rattling,  dilapidated  window 


20  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

looking  westward  across  the  sagging  roofs  of 
the  squalid  district.  One  of  the  men  stretched 
forth  a  quivering  hand  and,  with  a  hoarse  laugh 
of  exultation,  seized  in  his  fingers  a  strange, 
crudely  shaped  metallic  object  that  stood  on  the 
table  nearby.  He  lifted  it  to  his  lips  and  kissed 
it !  Then  he  put  it  down,  carefully,  gingerly, — 
with  something  like  fear  in  his  eyes.  Scraps  of 
tin,  pieces  of  iron  and  steel,  strands  of  wire, 
wads  of  cotton  and  waste,  and  an  odd  assort 
ment  of  tools  littered  the  table.  Harmless  ap 
pearing  cans,  and  bottles,  and  dirty  packages, 
with  a  mortar  and  pestle,  a  small  chemist's 
scales,  funnels  and  graduates  stood  in  innocent 
array  along  a  shelf  attached  to  the  wall, 
guarded, — so  it  seemed, — by  sinister  looking 
tubes  and  retorts. 

The  woman,  her  eyes  gleaming  with  a  malev 
olent  joy  that  contrasted  strangely  with  the 
dread  that  had  been  in  them  a  moment  before, 
lifted  her  clenched  hanrfs  and  hissed  out  a  single 
word: 

"Christ!" 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  21 

They,  too,  had  been  waiting. 

Thousands  there  were  in  the  great  city  whose 
eyes  glistened  that  night, — thousands  who  had 
not  been  waiting,  for  they  knew  nothing  of  the 
secret  that  lay  secure  and  safe  in  the  breasts  of 
the  few  who  were  allowed  to  strike.  Thousands 
who  rejoiced,  for  they  knew  that  a  great  and 
glorious  deed  had  been  done !  They  only  knew 
that  devastation  had  fallen  somewhere  with  ap 
palling  force, — it  mattered  not  to  them  where, 
so  long  as  it  had  fallen  in  its  appointed  place ! 

Many  a  glass,  many  a  stein,  was  raised  in 
stealthy  tribute  to  the  hand  that  had  rocked 
the  city  of  New  York !  And  in  the  darkness  of 
the  night  they  hid  their  gloating  faces,  and 
whispered  a  song  without  melody. 

Rich  man,  poor  man,  beggar-man,  thief!  In 
spirit,  at  least,  they  touched  hands  and  thrilled 
with  a  common  exaltation ! 

It  was  after  one  o'clock  when  the  Carstairs' 
motor  crept  out  of  the  ferry-house  at  130th 
Street,  and  whirled  up  the  hill  toward  the  Drive. 
A  rough-looking  individual  who  loitered  unmo- 


22  SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON 

lested  in  the  lee  of  the  ferry-house,  peered  in 
tently  at  the  number  of  the  car  as  it  passed,  and 
jotted  it  down  in  a  little  book.  He  noted  in  the 
same  way  the  license  numbers  of  other  automo 
biles.  When  he  was  relieved  hours  afterward, 
he  had  in  his  little  book  the  number  of  every  car 
that  came  in  from  Jersey  between  half  past 
eleven  at  night  and  seven  o'clock  in  the  morn 
ing.  It  was  not  his  duty  to  stop  or  question  the 
occupants  of  these  cars.  He  was  merely  exer 
cising  the  function  of  the  mysterious  Secret 
Eyes  of  the  United  States  Government. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carstairs  were  admitted  to  their 
Park  Avenue  apartment  by  a  tall,  beautiful  girl, 
who  threw  open  the  door  the  instant  the  elevator 
stopped  at  the  floor. 

" Thank  goodness!"  she  cried,  a  vibrant  note 
of  relief  in  her  voice  "We  were  so  dread 
fully—" 

"What  are  you  doing  up,  Louise?"  cried 
Mrs.  Carstairs  quickly.  Her  husband  frowned, 
as  with  annoyance. 

"Where    is    Hodges?"    he    demanded.    He 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  23 

stood  stock-still  for  a  moment  before  following 
his  wife  into  the  foyer. 

"He  went  out  some  time  ago  to  get  an  'extra.' 
The  boys  were  in  the  street  calling  new  ones. 
He  asked  if  he  might  go  out.  How — how  ter 
rible  it  is,  Uncle  Dawy.  And  it  was  so  near  the 
Club,  I — I — oh,  I  was  dreadfully  worried.  The 
papers  say  the  shells  fell  miles  away — Why,  I 
couldn't  go  to  bed,  Aunt  Frieda.  We  have  been 
trying  for  hours  to  get  the  Club  on  the  tele 
phone.  "  She  was  assisting  Mrs.  Carstairs  in 
removing  her  rich  chinchilla  coat.  Carstairs 
studied  the  girl's  white  face  with  considerable 
anxiety  as  he  threw  off  his  own  fur  coat.  The 
worried  frown  deepened. 

"Could  you  hear  the  explosions  over  here, 
Louise  f "  he  asked. 

"Hear  them?  Why,  Uncle  dear,  we  all 
thought  the  city  was  being  bombarded  by  war 
ships  in  the  river,  it  sounded  so  near  and  so 
terrible.  Alfie  and  I  ran  to  the  windows.  It 
was  just  after  eleven,  I  think.  He  called  up 
Central  at  once,  but  the  girl  was  so  frightened 


24  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

she  could  hardly  speak.  She  didn't  know  what 
had  happened,  but  she  was  sure  the  Germans 
were  destroying  the  city.  She  said  another  girl 
had  seen  the  Zeppelins.  Alfie  went  out  at  once. 
Oh,  dear,  I  am  so  glad  you  are  home.  I  was  so 
anxious — ' ' 

"My  dear  child,  you  should  be  in  bed,"  began 
her  uncle,  taking  her  hand  in  his.  He  laid  his 
other  hand  against  her  cheek,  and  was  relieved 
to  find  it  cool.  "You  say  Alfred  went  out — at 
eleven?" 

"A  few  minutes  after  eleven.  He  waited  un 
til  all  the  noise  had  ceased.  I  assured  him  I 
was  not  the  least  bit  nervous.  He  had  been 
working  so  hard  all  evening  in  your  study  over 
those  stupid  physics." 

6 '  And  he  hasn  't  returned  ?  Confound  him,  he 
shouldn't  have  gone  off  and  left  you  all  alone 
here  for  two  solid  hours — " 

"Don't  be  angry  with  him,  Uncle  Dawy," 
pleaded  the  girl.  "He  was  so  excited,  poor 
boy,  he  simply  couldn't  sit  here  without  know 
ing  what  had  happened.  Besides,  Hodges  and 
two  of  the  maids  were  up, — so  I  wasn't  all 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  25 

alone. "  She  followed  them  into  the  brilliantly 
lighted  drawing-room.  "Here  are  the  first  ex 
tras.  The  doorman  sent  them  up  to  me." 

Mrs.  Carstairs  dropped  heavily  into  a  chair. 
Her  face  was  very  white. 

"How  terrible,"  she  murmured,  glancing  at 
the  huge  headlines. 

"I  say,  Frieda,"  exclaimed  her  husband; 
* '  it 's  been  too  much  for  you.  A  drop  of  brandy, 
my  dear, — " 

6  i  Nothing,  thank  you,  Davenport.  I  am  quite 
all  right.  The  shock,  you  know.  We  were  so 
near  the  place,  Louise, — don't  you  see?  Eeally, 
it  was  appalling." 

"What  beasts!  What  inhuman  beasts  they 
are ! ' '  cried  the  girl,  in  a  sort  of  frenzy.  '  i  They 
ought  to  be  burned  alive, — burned  and  tortured 
for  hours.  The  last  extra  says  that  the  number 
of  dead  and  mutilated  is  beyond — " 

' '  Now,  now ! "  said  Carstairs,  gently.  ' l  Don 't 
excite  yourself,  child.  It  isn't  good  for  you. 
You've  been  too  ill,  my  dear.  Run  along  to  bed, 
there's  a  sensible  girl.  We'll  have  all  the  de 
tails  by  tomorrow, — and,  believe  me,  things 


26  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

won't  be  as  bad  as  they  seem  tonight.  It's  al 
ways  the  case,  you  know.  And  you,  too,  Frieda, 
— get  to  bed.  Your  nerves  are  all  shot  to 
pieces, — and  I'm  not  surprised.  I  will  wait 
for—" 

A  key  grated  in  the  door. 

"Here  he  is  now.  Hello,  Alfred, — what's 
the  latest!" 

His  son  came  into  the  room  without  remov 
ing  his  overcoat  or  hat.  His  dark  eyes,  wet 
from  the  sharp  wind  without,  sought  his 
mother's  face. 

"Are  you  all  right,  Mother!  I've  been  hor 
ribly  worried — thank  the  Lord!  It's  a  relief 
to  see  that  smile !  You  're  all  right !  Sure ! ' ' 

He  kissed  his  mother  quickly,  feverishly.  She 
put  her  arm  around  his  neck  and  murmured  in 
his  ear. 

"I  am  frightfully  upset,  of  course,  dear. 
Who  wouldn't  be!" 

He  stood  off  and  looked  long  and  intently 
into  her  eyes.  Then  he  straightened  up  and 
spoke  to  his  father. 

"I  might  have  known  you  wouldn't  let  any- 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  27 

thing  happen  to  her,  sir.  But  I  was  horribly 
worried,  just  the  same.  Those  beastly  shells 
went  everywhere,  they  say.  The  Club  must 
have  been — " 

"Nowhere  near  the  Club,  so  far  as  I  know," 
said  his  father  cheerfully.  "We  were  all  per 
fectly  safe.  Have  they  made  any  arrests?  Of 
course,  it  wasn't  accidental." 

"IVe  been  downtown,  around  the  newspaper 
offices,"  said  the  young  man,  throwing  his  coat 
and  hat  on  a  chair.  "There  are  all  sorts  of 
wild  stories.  People  are  talking  about  lynch- 
ings,  and  all  that  sort  of  rot.  Nothing  like  that 
ever  happens,  though.  We  do  a  lot  of  talking, 
and  that's  all.  It  all  blows  over  as  soon  as  the 
excitement  dies  down.  That's  the  trouble  with 
us  Americans." 

"America  will  wake  up  one  of  these  days, 
Alfred,"  said  his  father  slowly,  "and  when  she 
does,  there  will  be  worse  things  than  lynchings 
to  talk  about. ' ' 

"Are  your  feet  cold,  Alfred  dear?"  inquired 
his  mother,  a  note  of  anxiety  in  her  voice. 
"You've  been  tramping  about  the  streets,  and 


28  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

— You  must  have  a  hot  water  bottle  when  you 
go  to  bed.  There  is  so  much  pneumonia — " 

"Always  mothering  me,  aren't  you,  good 
Frieda  1"  he  said,  lovingly.  He  pronounced  it 
as  if  it  were  Friday.  It  was  his  pet  name  for 
her  in  the  bosom  of  the  family.  "Warm  as 
toast, ' '  he  added.  He  turned  to  Louise.  ' i  You 
didn't  mind  my  running  away  and  leaving  you, 
did  you,  Louise  ? ' ' 

*  '  Not  a  bit,  Alfie.  I  tried  to  get  Derrol  on  the 
long  distance,  but  they  said  at  the  Camp  it  was 
impossible  to  call  him  unless  the  message  was 
very  important.  I — I — so  I  asked  the  man  if 
there  had  been  any  kind  of  an  accident  out  there 
and  he  said  no,  there  hadn't.  I — asked  him  if 
Captain  Steele  was  in  bed,  and  he  said  he  should 
hope  so.  Don't  laugh,  Alfie!  I  know  it  was 
silly,  but — but  it  might  have  been  an  ammuni 
tion  depot  or  something  at  the  Camp.  We 
didn't  know — " 

"Ammunition,  your  granny!  They  haven't 
sufficient  ammunition  in  that  Camp, — or  in  any 
of  'em,  for  that  matter, — to  make  a  noise  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  across  the  street.  How  can 


SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON  29 

you  expect  me  to  keep  a  straight  face  when  you 
suggest  an  explosion  in  an  Army  Camp?" 

"It's  high  time  we  stopped  talking  about  ex 
plosions  and  went  to  bed,"  said  Carstairs,  aris 
ing.  He  put  his  arm  across  his  wife's  shoul 
ders.  " We've  had  all  the  explosions  we  can 
stand  for  one  night,  haven't  we,  dear?  Come 
along,  everybody.  Off  with  you!" 

"Hodges  should  be  back  any  moment  with  the 
latest  ' extra,'  "  said  Louise.  "Can't  we  wait 
just  a  few  minutes,  Uncle  Dawy?  He  has  been 
gone  over  an  hour." 

The  telephone  bell  in  Mr.  Carstairs'  study 
rang.  So  taut  were  the  nerves  of  the  four  per 
sons  in  the  adjoining  room  that  they  started 
violently.  They  looked  at  each  other  in  some 
perplexity. 

"Probably  Hodges,"  said  Alfred,  after  a 
moment.  * '  Shall  I  go,  dad  ?  " 

"See  who  it  is,"  said  Carstairs. 

"Wrong  number,  more  than  likely,"  said  his 
wife,  wearily.  "Central  has  been  unusually 
annoying  of  late.  It  happens  several  times 
every  day.  The  service  is  atrocious." 


30  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

Young  Carstairs  went  into  the  study  and 
snatched  up  the  receiver.  Moved  by  a  com 
mon  impulse,  the  others  followed  him  into  the 
room,  the  face  of  each  expressing  not  only 
curiosity  but  a  certain  alarm. 

"Yes,  this  is  Mr.  Carstairs'  residence.  .  .  . 
What?  ...  All  right. "  He  sat  down  on  the 
edge  of  the  library  table  and  turned  to  the 
others.  "Must  be  long  distance.  They're  get 
ting  somebody. ' ' 

Alfred  Carstairs  was  a  tall,  well-built  young 
fellow  of  twenty.  He  bore  a  most  remarkable, 
though  perhaps  not  singular,  resemblance  to  his 
mother.  His  eyes  were  dark,  his  thick  hair  a 
dead  black,  growing  low  on  his  forehead.  The 
lips  were  full  and  red,  with  a  whimsical  curve 
at  the  corners  denoting  not  merely  good  humour 
but  a  certain  contempt  for  seriousness  in  others. 
He  was  handsome  in  a  strong,  bold  way  despite 
a  strangely  colourless  complexion, — a  complex 
ion  that  may  be  described  as  pasty,  for  want  of 
a  nobler  word.  His  voice  was  deep,  with  the 
guttural  harshness  of  youth;  loud,  unmusical, 
not  yet  fixed  by  the  processes  of  maturity.  A 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  31 

big,  dominant,  vital  boy  making  the  last  turn 
before  stepping  into  full  manhood.  He  was  his 
mother's  son, — his  mother's  boy. 

His  father,  a  Harvard  man,  had  been 
thwarted  in  his  desire  to  have  his  son  follow  him 
through  the  historic  halls  at  Cambridge, — as 
he  had  followed  his  own  father  and  his  grand 
father. 

Sentiment  was  not  a  part  of  Alfred's  make 
up.  He  supported  his  mother  when  it  came  to 
the  college  selection.  Together  they  agreed 
upon  Columbia.  She  frankly  admitted  her  self 
ishness  in  wanting  to  keep  her  boy  at  home,  but 
found  other  and  less  sincere  arguments  in  the 
protracted  discussions  that  took  place  with  her 
husband.  She  fought  Harvard  because  it  was 
not  democratic,  because  it  bred  snobbishness 
and  contempt,  because  it  deprived  the  youth  of 
this  practical  age  of  the  breadth  of  vision  neces 
sary  to  success  among  men  who  put  ability  be 
fore  sentiment  and  a  superficial  distinction. 
She  urged  Columbia  because  it  was  democratic, 
pulsating,  practical. 

In  the  end,  Carstairs  gave  in.    He  wanted  to 


32  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

be  fair  to  both  of  them.  But  he  was  not  de 
ceived.  He  knew  that  her  chief  reason,  though 
spoken  softly  and  with  almost  pathetic  simple- 
ness,  was  that  she  could  not  bear  the  separation 
from  the  boy  she  loved  so  fiercely,  so  devotedly. 
He  was  not  so  sure  that  filial  love  entered 
into  Alfred's  calculations.  If  the  situation  had 
been  reversed,  he  was  confident, — or  reason 
ably  so, — that  Alfred  would  have  chosen  Har 
vard. 

He  had  the  strange,  unhappy  conviction  that 
his  son  opposed  him  in  this,  as  in  countless  other 
instances,  through  sheer  perversity.  His 
mother's  authority  always  had  been  supreme. 
She  had  exercised  it  with  an  iron-handed  firm 
ness  that  not  only  surprised  but  gratified  the 
father,  who  knew  so  well  the  tender  affection 
she  had  for  her  child.  Her  word  was  law.  Al 
fred  seldom  if  ever  questioned  it,  even  as  a 
small  and  decidedly  self-willed  lad.  Paradox 
ically,  she  both  indulged  and  disciplined  him  by 
means  of  the  same  consuming  force :  her  mother- 
love. 

On  the  other  hand,  Carstairs, — a  firm  and 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  33 

positive  character, — received  the  scantiest  con 
sideration  from  the  boy  on  the  rare  occasions 
when  he  felt  it  necessary  to  employ  paternal 
measures.  Alfred  either  sulked  or  openly  de 
fied  him.  Always  the  mother  stepped  into  the 
breach.  She  never  temporized.  She  either 
promptly  supported  the  father's  demand  or  op 
posed  it.  No  matter  which  point  of  view  she 
took,  the  youngster  invariably  succumbed.  In 
plain  words,  it  was  her  command  that  he  obeyed 
and  not  his  father's. 

As  time  went  on,  Carstairs  came  to  recognize 
the  resistless  combination  that  opposed  him, 
and,  while  the  realization  was  far  from  com 
forting,  his  common-sense  ordered  him  to  ac 
cept  the  situation,  especially  as  nothing  could 
be  clearer  than  the  fact  that  she  was  bringing 
her  son  up  with  the  most  rigid  regard  for  his 
future.  She  had  her  eyes  set  far  ahead;  she 
was  seeing  him  always  as  a  man  and  not  as  a 
boy.  That  much,  at  least,  Carstairs  conceded, 
and  was  more  proud  of  her  than  he  cared  to  ad 
mit,  even  to  himself.  He  watched  the  sturdy, 
splendid,  earnest  development  of  his  boy  un- 


34  SHOT  WITH  CBIMSON 

der  the  influence  of  a  force  stronger  than  any 
he  could  have  exercised. 

Sometimes  he  wondered  if  it  was  the  German 
in  her  that  made  for  the  rather  unusual  strength 
which  so  rarely  rises  above  the  weakness  of 
a  mother's  pity.  Once  he  laughingly  had  in 
quired  what  she  would  have  done  had  their 
child  been  born  a  girl. 

"I  should  have  been  content  to  let  you  bring 
her  up,"  said  she,  with  a  twinkle  in  her  eye. 

While  she  was  resolute,  almost  unyielding  in 
regard  to  her  growing  son,  her  attitude  toward 
her  husband  was  in  all  other  respects  amazingly 
free  from  assertiveness  or  arrogance.  On  the 
contrary,  she  was  submissive  almost  to  the  point 
of  humility.  He  was  her  man.  He  was  her 
law.  A  simple,  unwavering  respect  for  his 
strength,  his  position,  his  authority  in  the  home 
of  which  he  was  the  head,  rendered  her  inca 
pable  of  opposing  his  slightest  wish.  An  odd 
timidity,  singularly  out  of  keeping  with  her 
physical  as  well  as  her  mental  endowments, 
surrounded  her  with  that  pleasing  and, — to  all 
men, — gratifying  atmosphere  of  femininity  so 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  35 

dear  to  the  heart  of  every  lord  and  master. 
She  made  him  comfortable. 

And  she  was,  despite  her  social  activities,  a 
good  and  capable  house-wife, — one  of  the  old- 
fashioned  kind  who  thinks  first  of  her  man's 
comfort  and,  although  in  this  instance  it  was 
not  demanded,  of  his  purse.  He  was  her  man ; 
it  was  her  duty  to  serve  him. 

As  her  boy  merged  swiftly, — almost  abruptly 
into  manhood, — her  long-maintained  grip  of 
iron  relaxed.  Carstairs,  noting  the  change,  was 
puzzled.  He  was  a  long  time  in  arriving  at  the 
solution.  It  was  very  simple  after  all:  she 
merely  had  admitted  another  man  into  her  cal 
culations.  Her  boy  had  become  a  man, — a 
strong,  dominant  man, — and  she  was  ready, 
even  willing,  to  relinquish  the  temporary  power 
she  had  exerted  over  him. 

She  was  no  longer  free  to  command.  Alfred 
had  come  into  his  own.  He  was  a  man.  She 
was  proud  of  him.  The  time  had  come  for  her 
to  be  humble  in  the  light  of  his  glory,  and  she 
was  content  to  lay  aside  the  authority  with 
which  she  had  cloaked  her  love  and  ambition  for 


36  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

so  long.  His  word  had  become  her  law.  She 
had  two  men  in  her  family  now.  Slowly  but 
surely  she  was  giving  them  to  understand  that 
she  was  their  woman,  and  that  she  knew  her 
place.  She  had  been  for  twenty-two  years  the 
wife  of  one  of  them,  and  for  twenty  years  the 
mother  of  the  other. 

Carstairs  was  rich.  He  was  a  man  of  affairs, 
a  man  of  power  and  distinction  in  the  councils 
of  that  exalted  class  known  as  the  leaders  of 
finance.  He  represented  one  of  the  soundest 
vertebrae  in  the  back-bone  of  the  nation  in  these 
times  of  war.  With  a  loyalty  that  incurred  a 
tremendous  amount  of  self-sacrifice,  he  had  of 
fered  all  of  his  vital  energy,  all  of  his  heart,  to 
the  cause  of  the  people.  He  was  on  many 
boards,  he  was  in  touch  with  all  the  great  enter 
prises  that  worked  for  the  comfort,  the  support 
and  the  encouragement  of  those  who  went  forth 
to  give  their  lives  if  need  be  in  the  turmoil  of 
war.  Davenport  Carstairs  stood  for  all  that 
was  fine  and  strong  in  practical  idealism,  which, 
after  all,  is  the  basis  of  all  things  truly  Ameri 
can. 


CARSTAIRS  TOOK  ur  THE  RECEIVER.    HE  REALIZED  THAT 

HIS  HAND  TREMBLED.  HE  HAD  NEVER  KNOWN  IT 
TO  HAPPEN  BEFORE,  EVEN  IN  MOMENTS  OP  GREAT 
STRESS 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  37 

As  he  stood  inside  the  study  door,  watching 
with  some  intensity  the  face  of  his  son,  he  was 
suddenly  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  dread,  not  as 
sociated  with  the  recent  grave  event,  but  some 
thing  new  that  was  creeping,  as  it  were,  along 
the  wire  that  reached  its  end  in  the  receiver 
glued  to  Alfred's  ear.  He  glanced  at  his  wife. 
She  suddenly  exhaled  the  breath  she  was  hold 
ing  and  smiled  faintly  into  his  concerned 
eyes. 

"Yes, — "  said  Alfred,  impatiently,  after  a 
long  pause, — "Yes,  this  is  Mr.  Carstairs'  home. 
.  .  .  I  am  his  son.  .  .  .  What?  .  .  .  Yes,  he's 
here,  but  can't  you  give  me  the  message?  .  .  . 
Who  are  you?  ...  What?  .  .  .  Certainly  I'll 
call  him,  but  .  .  .  Here,  father;  it's  some  one 
who  insists  on  speaking  to  you  personally." 

He  set  the  receiver  down  on  the  table  with 
a  sharp  bang,  and  straightened  up  to  his  full 
height  as  if  resenting  an  indignity. 

Carstairs  took  up  the  receiver.  He  realized 
that  his  hand  trembled.  He  had  never  known  it 
to  happen  before,  even  in  moments  of  great 
stress. 


38  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

"Yes,  this  is  Davenport  Carstairs.  Who  are 
you,  please?"  He  started  slightly  at  the  crisp, 
business-like  reply.  "Bellevue  Hospital? 
Police  surgeon —  What?  Just  a  moment, 
please.  Now,  go  ahead."  He  had  seated  him 
self  in  the  great  library  chair  at  the  end  of  the 
table.  "Yes;  my  butler's  name  is  Hodges.  .  .  . 
An  Englishman.  .  .  .  What?  .  .  .  What  has  hap 
pened,  officer?  .  .  .  Good  God!  ...  I—  Why, 
certainly,  I  shall  come  down  at  once  if  neces 
sary.  I — can  identify  him,  of  course.  .  .  .  Yes, 
tomorrow  morning  will  suit  me  better.  .  .  . 
Hold  the  wire  a  moment,  please." 

He  turned  to  the  listeners.  "Hodges  has 
been  injured  by  an  automobile,"  he  said  quietly. 
"I  gather  he  is  unconscious.  You  are  nervous 
and  upset,  Frieda,  so  you'd  better  retire. 
Leave  this  to — " 

"Is  he  dead,  Davenport?"  she  asked  in  a 
low  horror-struck  voice. 

"Run  along,  Louise, — skip  off  to  bed.  I'll 
get  the  details  and  tell  you  in  the  morning." 

The  girl  swayed  slightly.  Her  eyes  were 
wide  with  anguish. 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  39 

"I — I  shouldn't  have  allowed  him  to  go  out," 
she  stammered.  ' '  I — Oh,  Uncle  Dawy ! ' ' 

Mrs.  Carstairs  put  her  arm  about  the  girl's 
waist  and  led  her  from  the  room.  Carstairs 
looked  up  at  his  son. 

"I  guess  you  can  stand  it,  Alfred.  He's 
dead.  Instantly  killed. "  He  spoke  into  the 
transmitter.  "Tell  me  how  it  happened, 
please. " 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  a  moment  or  two 
later. 

"Run  down  at  the  corner  of  Madison  Avenue 
and  48th  Street.  There  were  two  witnesses, 
and  both  say  that  he  was  standing  in  the  street 
waiting  for  a  car.  The  automobile  was  going 
forty  miles  an  hour.  He  never  knew  what  hit 
him.  Poor  devil!  Have  you  ever  heard  him 
mention  his  family,  Alfred?  We  must  notify 
some  one,  of  course. " 

"No,  sir,"  said  his  son.  "He  seemed  a  quiet 
sort.  The  other  servants  may  know.  Mother 
says  his  references  were  of  the  highest  order, — 
that's  all  I  know.  What  a  terrible  thing  to 
have — " 


40  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

"We  must  not  worry  your  mother  with  this 
tonight,  my  son.  She 's  had  enough  for  today. '  * 

"I  should  say  so,"  exclaimed  Alfred,  clench 
ing  his  hands.  He  choked  up,  and  said  no  more. 


CHAPTEE  in 

PAUL  ZIMMERLEIN  was  a  mining  engi 
neer.  His  offices  were  off  Fifth  Avenue, 
somewhere  above  34th  Street.  He  stood  well 
in  his  profession,  he  stood  high  as  a  citizen.  No 
one  questioned  his  integrity,  his  ability  or  his 
loyalty.  He  was  a  good  American.  At  least, 
a  great  many  good  Americans  said  he  was, 
which  amounts  to  the  same  thing. 

One  entered  his  offices  through  a  small  ante 
chamber,  where  a  young  woman  at  the  tele 
phone-desk  made  perfunctory  inquiries,  but  al 
ways  in  a  crisp,  business-like  manner.  She  was 
the  first  cog  in  a  smooth-running  piece  of  ma 
chinery.  Her  name  was  Mildred, — Mildred 
Agnew,  and  she  had  a  brother  in  the  British 
navy,  from  whom  she  received  infrequent  let 
ters  of  a  most  unilluminating  character, — let 
ters  omitting  date,  place  and  ship :  in  which  he 
said  he  was  well  and  happy  and  hoped  to  God 

41 


42  SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON 

the  Germans  would  come  out  into  the  open  to 
see  what  the  weather  was  like. 

If  your  business  was  important,  or  you  had 
an  appointment,  you  would  be  conducted  by  a 
smart-looking  boy  into  a  rather  imposing  cor 
ner  room,  from  whose  windows  you  could  look 
down  fourteen  storeys  to  the  roof  of  an  eight 
storey  building  below.  Presently  you  would  be 
invited  into  Mr.  Zimmerlein  '&  private  office. 
Beyond  this  snug  little  office  was  the  drafting 
room,  where  several  actively  studious  men  of 
various  ages  bent  over  blue-prints  and  estimate 
sheets. 

They  all  appeared  to  be  good,  industrious 
Americans;  you  could  see  them  quite  plainly 
through  the  glass  upper  half  of  the  intervening 
door. 

You  were  at  once  aware  of  an  impression  that 
this  was  not  the  place  to  come  if  you  were  en 
gaged  in  a  secret  or  shady  enterprise, — such  as 
the  exploitation  of  a  "  get-rich-quick "  mining 
proposition  or  any  kindred  opening  for  the  un 
wary.  You  always  said  to  yourself  that  you 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  43 

felt  quite  safe  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Paul  Zimmer- 
lein, — and  his  associates. 

You  went  about  saying  that  you  wished  all 
men  with  German  blood  in  them  were  like  Mr. 
Paul  Zimmerlein.  He  became  one  of  your  pet 
hobbies.  You  invariably  referred  to  him  when 
you  declared  that  you  knew  at  least  one  man  of 
German  extraction  who  was  "absolutely  on  the 
level/'  and  you  would  unhesitatingly  go  about 
proving  it  if  any  one  had  the  effrontery  to  even 
discuss  the  point  with  you.  All  you  would  have 
to  do  would  be  to  point  in  triumph  to  the  men 
who  were  his  associates  professionally,  commer 
cially  and  socially.  The  list  would  include 
many  of  the  really  significant  figures  in  public 
life.  Among  them,  for  instance,  you  would 
mention  several  United  States  senators,  at  least 
two  gentlemen  high  up  in  Administrative  cir 
cles,  practically  all  of  the  big  financiers,  certain 
members  of  the  English  Cabinet,  and,— in  a 
pinch, — the  presidents  of  three  South  American 
Republics.  He  was  on  record  as  being  violently 
opposed  to  Von  Bernstorff,— indeed,  he  had 


44  SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON 

said  such  bitter  and  violent  things  about  the 
ex-ambassador  that  even  the  most  conservative 
German- Americans, — those  who  actually  were 
opposed  to  the  Kaiser  and  his  policies, — felt 
that  he  was  going  much  too  far. 

He  was  about  forty  years  of  age,  tall  and  pow 
erfully  built,  with  surprisingly  mobile  features 
for  one  whose  face  at  a  glance  suggested  heavi 
ness  and  stolidity.  His  smile  was  ever  ready 
and  genial ;  his  manner  courtly ;  his  eyes,  which 
were  honest  and  unwavering,  had  something 
sprightly  in  them  that  invited  confidence  and 
comradeship.  The  thick,  dark  hair  was  touched 
with  grey  at  the  temples,  and  there  was  a  deep 
scar  on  his  left  cheek,  received — not  in  a  Ger 
man  university,  as  you  might  suppose, — but 
during  a  fierce  and  sanguinary  encounter  with 
Yaqui  Indians  in  northern  Mexico, — a  tragedy 
which  cost  the  lives  of  several  of  his  companions 
and  brought  from  the  people  of  the  United 
States  a  demand  that  the  government  take  dras 
tic  action  in  the  matter.  Altogether,  a  pre 
possessing,  substantial  figure  of  a  man,  with  a 
delightful  personality. 


SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON  45 

Shortly  before  noon  on  the  day  following  the 
destruction  of  the  great  Eeynolds  plant  by  alien 
plotters,  Zimmerlein  was  seated  in  his  office, 
awaiting  the  arrival  of  two  well-known  New 
York  merchants  and  a  gentleman  from  Brazil. 
Half-a-dozen  morning  newspapers,  with  their 
sinister  head-lines,  lay  upon  his  desk,  neatly 
folded  and  stacked  with  grave  orderliness.  He 
had  read  them,  and  was  lolling  back  in  his  big 
leather  chair  with  a  faint  smile  on  his  lips, 
and  a  far-off,  frowning  expression  in  his 
eyes. 

The  gentleman  from  Brazil  came  first. 

1  '  Sit  down, ' '  said  Zimmerlein  curtly.  '  '  They 
will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes. ' ' 

"That  was  a  terrible  thing  last  night,  Zim 
merlein,"  said  the  Brazilian,  nervously  glanc 
ing  over  his  shoulder  in  the  direction  of  the 
drafting-room. 

Zimmerlein  made  no  response.  He  resumed 
his  set,  faraway  expression,  his  gaze  directed 
at  the  upper  sash  of  the  broad,  high  window, 
beyond  which  a  distant,  grey  cloud  glided  slowly 
across  a  blue-white  sky. 


46  .SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

"Most  shocking,"  went  on  the  Brazilian,  after 
a  moment.  He  had  not  removed  his  overcoat. 
The  fur  collar  was  still  fastened  closely  about 
his  neck. 

Zimmerlein  turned  toward  his  visitor. 

"Take  off  your  coat,  Riaz.  Make  yourself 
comfortable,"  he  said,  affably.  "Help  your 
self  to  a  cigar." 

Riaz, — Sebastian  Riaz,  diamond  merchant 
and  mine-owner  of  Rio  Janeiro, — removed  his 
coat.  "The  appointment  was  for  eleven 
o'clock,  Mr.  Zimmerlein,"  he  said,  looking  at 
his  watch.  "They  are  late.  It  is  nearly 
twelve." 

"Permit  me  to  remind  you  that  you  also  were 
late.  Everything  is  in  order,  my  dear  sir.  The 
deal  may  be  closed  in  ten  minutes, — or  even  less 
time  than  that, — if  there  is  no  further  haggling 
on  your  part."  He  closed  one  eye  slowly. 
"The  contracts,  the  estimates,  the  plans  are 
ready.  Nothing  is  lacking  except  the  signa 
tures." 

"Just  as  they  have  been  ready  for  nearly  two 
months,"  observed  Riaz,  also  closing  an  eye. 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  47 

"All  ready — except  the  signatures  and  the 
date." 

"We  shall  date  them, — and  sign  them, — in  our 
extremity,"  said  Zimmerlein,  going  to  a  safe 
which  stood  invitingly  open  in  a  corner  of  the 
room.  He  removed  a  small  but  important-look 
ing  package  of  papers  and  tossed  them  care 
lessly  on  the  table.  "Such  as  a  visit  from  on 
high, ' '  he  added,  with  a  smile. 

"Yes,"  said  Riaz,  and  sat  down  again,  frown 
ing. 

"We  shall  never  be  caught  napping.  Here 
are  the  papers,  as  they  would  say  in  the  melo 
drama.  By  the  way,  do  you  go  in  for  melo 
drama  in  Eio  ?  Or  are  you  above  that  form  of 
amusement?" 

Eiaz  remained  unsmiling.  "It  is  not  as  pop 
ular  with  us  as  it  is  with  you  Americans,"  said 
he.  i  i  We  see  through  it  too  readily. '  * 

Zimmerlein  unfolded  and  spread  out  several 
of  the  documents.  "There!"  he  said.  "Let 
him  come  who  will.  Under  the  sharpest  eyes  in 
America  you  may  transfer  property  valued  at 
ten  millions,  and  no  one  will  question  the  valid- 


48  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

ity  of  the  transaction.  You  see,  my  dear  Eiaz, 
you  do  own  these  mines  and  they  are  exactly 
what  they  are  represented  to  be.  To  save  their 
lives,  they  can't  go  behind  the  facts.  And  the 
purchasers  are  prepared  to  hand  over  the  cash 
at  any  moment.  Could  anything  be  simpler?" 

"Nothing,"  said  the  Brazilian,  sententiously, 
— "except  the  damned  little  slip  that  sometimes 
comes  between  the  cup  and  the  lip." 

"Ah,  but  our  cup  is  always  at  the  lip,"  said 
Zimmerlein  buoyantly.  "Don't  be  a  kill-joy, 
old  chap." 

"All  well  and  good,  Zimmerlein,  unless  some 
one's  lip  splits."  He  shot  an  uneasy  glance 
into  the  drafting-room. 

"This  is  the  most  perfect  machine  in  the 
world,  Eiaz.  Have  no  fear.  Every  cog  has 
been  tested  and  is  of  the  staunchest  steel. 
Every  part  has  been  put  in  its  proper  place  by 
the  greatest  genius  alive." 

"I  don't  have  to  remind  you  that  a  few  cogs 
in  the  Foreign  office  have  slipped  badly." 

The  door  opened  to  admit  two  brisk,  prosper 
ous-looking  gentlemen. 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  49 

"I  fear  we  are  late,"  said  the  foremost.  "It 
was  unavoidable,  I  assure  you." 

"It  is  never  too  late,"  said  Zimmerlein,  ad 
vancing  to  shake  hands  with  the  new-comers. 
Then,  while  they  were  laying  aside  their  over 
coats,  he  stepped  swiftly  to  the  door  of  the 
drafting-room  and  called  out:  "Thorsensel! 
Come  here,  please.  And  you  also,  Martin. ' ' 

One  of  the  men  in  the  outer  room,  laid  down 
the  instrument  with  which  he  was  working  over 
a  huge  blue-print ;  with  a  sigh  of  resignation,  he 
removed  his  green  eye-shield,  smoothed  out  his 
wrinkled  alpaca  coat,  and  came  slowly,  diffi 
dently  into  the  private  office.  He  was  a  middle- 
aged,  stoop-shouldered,  sunken-faced  man,  with 
a  drooping  moustache  that  lacked  not  only  in 
pride  but  in  colour  as  well.  The  ends  were 
gnawed  and  scraggly,  and  there  were  cigarette 
stains  along  the  uneven  edges.  Otherwise,  this 
sickly  adornment  was  straw-coloured.  Thick 
spectacles  enlarged  his  almost  expressionless 
blue  eyes;  as  one  looked  straight  into  them, 
the  eyeballs  seemed  to  be  twice  the  normal 
size. 


50  SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON 

This  man  was  John  Thorsensel,  civil  engi 
neer,  American — born  of  Norwegian  parentage, 
graduate  of  one  of  the  greatest  engineering  uni 
versities  in  the  country.  You  would  go  many  a 
league  before  encountering  a  more  unimposing, 
commonplace  person, — and  yet  here  was  the 
most  astute  secret  servant  in  the  German 
Kaiser's  vast  establishment.  Not  Zimmerlein, 
nor  Eiaz,  nor  any  of  the  important-looking 
individuals  who  skulked  behind  respectable 
names,  not  one  of  them  was  the  head  and  heart 
of  the  sinister,  far-reaching  octopus  that  spread 
its  slimy  influence  across  the  United  States  of 
America.  John  Thorsensel,  an  insignificant 
toiler,  was  the  master-mind,  the  arch-conspira 
tor.  It  was  his  hand  that  rested  on  the  key, 
his  thought  that  covered  everything,  his  in 
fernal  ingenuity  that  confounded  the  shrewdest 
minds  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic.  The  last 
man  in  the  world  to  be  suspected, — such  was 
John  Thorsensel,  bad  angel. 

Martin,  the  other  man  called  to  the  confer 
ence,  was  a  brisk  young  fellow  who  left  a  roll- 
top  desk  in  the  corner  of  the  drafting-room 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  51 

and  presented  himself  with  stenographer's 
note-book  and  pencil.  It  is  worthy  of  mention 
that  this  book  already  contained  the  stenog 
raphic  notes  of  the  preliminary  verbal  discus 
sion  between  the  three  principals  to  a  trans 
action  involving  the  sale  of  great  mining  prop 
erties  in  South  America.  Everything  was  per 
fectly  prepared,  even  to  the  abrupt  termination 
of  the  conference  that  would  come  naturally  in 
case  agents  of  the  government  took  it  into  their 
heads  to  appear.  Martin's  notes,  jotted  down 
weeks  beforehand,  broke  off  in  the  most  natural 
way.  There  is  no  telling  how  many  times  he 
had  sat  with  the  note-book  on  his  knee  in  just 
such  a  conference  as  this,  without  adding  a 
single  word  to  what  already  appeared  on  the 
pages.  It  is  safe  to  say,  however,  that  the  notes 
were  never  transcribed. 

It  would  have  been  impossible  to  find  in  the 
offices  of  Paul  Zimmerlein  a  single  incriminat 
ing  line,  or  article,  or  suggestion  of  either, — for 
the  simple  reason  that  no  such  thing  existed. 
Nothing  ever  appeared  in  tangible  form,  Visi 
tors  were  always  welcome. 


52  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

Once  and  once  only  had  the  slightest  symp 
tom  of  a  creak  appeared  in  the  well-ordered 
machine.  One  man  was  suspected, — merely 
suspected.  There  was  no  actual  evidence 
against  him  in  the  hands  of  the  conspirators,  but 
the  fact  that  a  possibility  existed  was  enough  for 
them.  He  was  an  ordinary  window- washer  who 
came  twice  a  month  to  the  office, — not  oftener, 
— in  his  regular  round  of  the  building.  Always 
it  was  the  same  man  who  washed  Zimmerlein's 
windows,  and  always  a  few  words  passed  be 
tween  him  and  the  engineer, — words  that  no  one 
else  heard.  One  day  the  device  to  which  his 
safety  belt  was  attached  gave  way  and  he  fell 
fourteen  storeys  to  the  roof  of  the  building  be 
low.  He  was  to  be  trusted  after  that. 

The  six  men  gathered  in  the  office  of  Mr.  Paul 
Zimmerlein  formed  a  combination  of  intelli 
gence,  wealth,  energy  and  evil  sufficient  to  sat 
isfy  even  the  most  exacting  of  masters.  Here 
were  the  shrewdest,  the  safest,  the  soundest 
agents  of  the  cruelest  system  in  all  the  world. 
No  small,  half-hearted  undertaking  in  frightful- 
ness  ever  grew  out  of  their  deliberations;  no 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  53 

sporadic,  clumsy  botch  in  the  shape  of  needless 
violence;  no  crazy,  fore-doomed  project;  no 
mistakes.  They  were  the  big  men, — the  men 
who  did  the  big  things. 

Out  of  every  nook  and  cranny  in  the  land 
oozed  constant  and  reliable  reports  from  the 
most  trustworthy  sources,  from  agents  of  both 
sexes;  sly,  secret,  mysterious  forces  supplied 
them  with  facts  that  no  man  was  supposed  to 
know ;  the  magic  of  the  Far  East  was  surpassed 
by  these  wizards  who  came  not  out  of  Egypt  but 
from  commonplace,  unromantic  circles  in  the 
Occident. 

The  departures  of  vessels  from  every  port, 
the  nature  of  their  cargoes;  the  sailings  of 
transports  and  the  number  of  troops ;  the  condi 
tions  in  all  the  munitions  plants  and  canton 
ments;  the  state  of  mind  of  the  millions  of 
workers  and  idlers  throughout  the  land;  the 
very  thoughts  of  the  people  in  control  of  the 
country's  affairs,  it  would  seem.  Everything! 
Everything  was  known  to  this  resourceful 
clique.  They  were  the  backbone  of  the  unrest, 
the  uneasiness,  the  scepticism  that  swept  the 


54  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

land.  Their  agents,  loyal  unto  death,  were 
everywhere.  The  secrets  of  sea,  land 'and  air 
were  theirs.  They  could  buy, — buy  anything 
they  wanted  with  the  wealth  that  was  theirs  for 
the  asking. 

Information  came  to  them  and  commands 
were  issued  by  them  in  a  thousand  different 
ways,  but  never  in  circumstances  that  invited 
suspicion.  A  casual  meeting  on  the  street ;  the 
passing  of  the  time  of  day;  a  hand-shake  in 
restaurant  or  club ;  brief  and  seemingly  innocu 
ous  exchanges  of  pleasantries  at  the  theatre; 
perfunctory  contact  with  stenographers,  em 
ployes,  and  customers  in  the  course  of  a  day; 
thus,  under  the  eyes  of  all  observers  the  secret 
word  was  given  and  received.  With  these  men 
no  word  was  written,  no  visible  message  was 
exchanged.  And  the  German  language  was 
never  spoken. 

" Trains  from  the  West  are  all  late,"  said  one 
of  the  late  arrivals,  an  elderly,  grey-whiskered 
man.  "  Rhine  did  not  get  in  from  Chicago  till 
nearly  eleven.  It  was  imperative  that  I  should 
see  him  before  coming  here,  gentlemen." 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  55 

"Weflt"  demanded  Thorsensel. 

"He  says  the  time  is  not  yet  ripe.  He  has 
studied  the  situation,  has  had  reports  from 
many  sources.  It  is  too  soon.  A  partial  suc 
cess  would  be  far  worse  than  a  total  failure. 
He  is  very  positive. ' ' 

"All  right, "  said  Thorsensel  crisply.  The 
matter  was  thus  summarily  disposed  of.  He 
did  not  believe  in  wasting  time  or  words.  He 
turned,  with  a  questioning  look,  to  the  other 
prosperous-looking  citizen. 

"He  died  very  suddenly  last  night,"  said  that 
worthy,  responding  to  the  unspoken  query. 

Thorsensel  nodded  his  head  with  lively  sat 
isfaction. 

"Anything  else?" 

"That  young  fellow  we  were  speaking  of  the 
other  day  dropped  in  at  the  store  this  morning. 
He  appears  to  be  interested  in  a  very  good- 
looking  shop-girl  on  the  second  floor.  I  don't 
know  how  many  pairs  of  gloves  he  has  bought 
of  her  in  the  past  few  weeks." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  impatiently.  "Miss 
Group." 


56  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

"We're  making  no  mistake  about  this  fellow, 
are  we,  Elberon?"  demanded  Zimmerlein. 

"No, — absolutely  no.  I'll  stake  my  life  on 
Mm." 

"Go  on,"  said  Thorsensel  curtly. 

"The  British  and  French  Commission  sails 
tomorrow  on  the  Elston.  There  is  no  question 
about  it.  He  had  it  from  the  same  source  that 
reported  their  arrival  last  month. ' ' 

"Martin,  see  that  this  information  is  on  the 
wing  immediately,"  said  Thorsensel.  "We 
may  accept  it  as  authentic. ' ' 

"I  should  think  we  might,"  said  Zimmerlein, 
"when  you  stop  to  consider  that  no  one  in  the 
United  States  or  England  is  supposed  to  know, 
even  now,  that  this  Commission  is  in  the  coun 
try, — that  is,  no  one  outside  a  very  restricted 
circle  in  Washington.  I've  never  known  any 
thing  to  be  kept  so  completey  under  cover. 
Some  of  the  biggest  men  in  France  and  Eng 
land  land  on  our  shores,  transact  the  most  im 
portant  business  conceivable,  and  get  out  again 
without  so  much  as  a  wliiff  of  the  news  reaching 
the  public.  Somebody  deserves  the  Iron  Cross 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  57 

for  this,  Thorsensel.  It  is  the  cleverest,  smart 
est  piece  of  work  that  has  been  done  up  to 
date." 

"I  venture  the  opinion  that  the  Elston  with 
its  precious  cargo  will  never  see  land  again, " 
was  Thorsensel's  remark. 

"The  Kitchener  job  all  over  again,  eh?" 
said  Riaz,  admiringly. 

"Or  the  Lusitania,"  amended  Elberon. 

"Don't  speak  of  the  Lusitania,"  exclaimed 
Thorsensel,  irritably.  "You  know  how  I  feel 
about  that  piece  of  stupidity." 

"You  were  against  it  all  the  time,  I  know," 
began  Elberon. 

"Of  course  I  was.  It  was  the  gravest  blun 
der  in  history.  But  this  is  no  time  to  talk  about 
it.  Every  one  has  reported  on  last  night's 
business.  There  were  no  casualties  and  no  one 
is  missing." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  the  grey-whiskered  plot 
ter,  his  piggish  eyes  sparkling.  "No  one  killed 
or  injured  or  missing,  eh?  That  seems  all  that 
could  be  expected  of  Providence." 

"Every  man  has  reported,"  said  Thorsensel 


58  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

succinctly.  "Even  Trott,  from  whom  we  had 
heard  nothing  for  two  whole  days.  It  appears 
he  was  trapped  and  had  to  lie  hidden  in  an 
empty  bin.  He  got  away  just  in  time,  and  with 
out  being  seen.  Yes,  luck  and  God  were  with  us 
last  night,  gentlemen.  Not  a  life  lost,  nor  a 
man  scratched. " 

"If  we  come  out  half  as  well  next  week,  I  will 
say  that  God  is  with  us,"  said  Zimmerlem. 

"  Where  were  you  last  night,  Elberon?"  de 
manded  the  gaunt  leader  abruptly. 

"I  dined  with  some  friends  and  went  to  the 
theatre  afterwards,  Thorsensel." 

"Who  were  they?" 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Heidel— " 

"You  needn't  finish  the  name,"  broke  in 
Thornsensel.  "I  want  to  warn  you  again  not 
to  take  them  into  your  confidence, — not  even  in 
the  smallest  of  matters." 

"His  brother  is  a  general  in  the  Bavarian — " 

"It  doesn't  matter.  I  know  all  that.  And 
one  of  her  brothers  is  in  the  Reichstag.  But 
you  must  not  overlook  the  fact  that  a  great 
many  of  these  people  are  loyal  to  America. 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  59 

That  is  a  point  you  don't  seem  able  to  get 
through  your  head,  Elberon.  The  worst  enemy, 
the  direst  peril  we  have  to  contend  with  is  the 
American-German,  if  you  grasp  the  distinction. 
No  one  seems  to  have  used  the  hyphen  in  just 
that  way,  Elberon,  but  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
the  American-German,  and  we've  got  to  steer 
clear  of  him.  He's  not  as  uncommon  as  you 
may  think,  either.  This  man  you  were  with 
last  night  is  one.  He  would  turn  you  over  to 
the  authorities  in  a  flash  if  he  got  a  breath  of 
the  truth.  A  word  to  the  wise,  Elberon,  means 
a  word  to  you." 

"A  man  is  one  thing  or  the  other,"  said  the 
other,  flushing.  "He's  either  a  German  or  an 
American.  There's  nothing  in  the  hyphen." 

"You're  quite  right,"  agreed  Thorsensel. 
"The  man  you  were  with  last  night  is  an  Ameri 
can  in  spite  of  his  name  and  his  antecedents. 
I  happen  to  know.  Somewhere  in  this  city 
there  is -a  list  of  the  people  I  define  as  Ameri 
can-Germans.  It  is  a  rather  formidable  list, 
let  me  tell  you.  They  happen  to  be  traitors, 
damn  them." 


60  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

" Traitors?  I  thought  you  said  they  were 
loyal." 

"You'd  see  what  would  happen  to  them  if 
they  ever  set  foot  on  German  soil,"  said  Thor- 
sensel,  and  it  was  not  difficult,  even  for  the  stolid 
Elberon,  to  see  what  he  meant  by  loyalty. 

An  hour  later  the  meeting  came  to  an  end, 
and  the  men  went  their  several  ways,  unsus 
pected  by  the  troubled,  harassed  watch-dogs  of 
the  nation.  In  that  hour  they  had  confidently, 
almost  contemptuously,  forwarded  the  consum 
mation  of  other  enterprises  even  more  startling 
than  the  blowing  up  of  the  Reynolds  plant.  Re 
mote  assassinations  were  drawn  a  trifle  nearer ; 
plans  leading  to  the  bombing  of  New  York  by 
aeroplanes  that  were  to  rise  up  out  of  the  sea 
from  monster  submarines ;  a  new  and  not  to  be 
denied  smashing  of  the  Welland  Canal;  well- 
timed  collisions  of  ships  in  the  lower  Hudson, 
and  other  basins,  with  results  more  stupendous 
than  anything  yet  conceived;  deceptive  peace 
propaganda  for  the  guileless  and  unwary 
American  proletariat ;  subtle  interference  in  the 
Halls  of  Congress;  almost  everything,  it  may 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  61 

be  said,  except  the  transfer  of  valuable  mines 
in  Brazil.  That  trifling  detail  was  left  to  an 
other  day. 

Within  the  next  hour,  a  message  was  on  its 
way  through  the  air  to  far-off  Berlin,  giving  in 
singularly  accurate  figures  the  military  losses 
sustained  by  the  Allies  at  a  spot  in  New  Jersey 
recently  occupied  by  the  great  Eeynolds  con 
cern. 


CHAPTER  IV 

AT  the  end  of  ten  days  the  excitement  and 
horror  occasioned  by  the  blowing  up  of 
the  Reynolds  plant  had  succumbed  to  the  great 
American  curse:  indifference.  Amateur  secret 
service  men  brazenly  proclaiming  themselves, 
went  about  more  actively  than  ever,  showing 
their  badges  and  looking  up  clues  at  the  same 
time,  doing  more  harm  than  good,  for  while  pro 
fessional  intelligence  men  were  compelled  to 
accept  them  as  liabilities,  the  grateful  aliens 
quite  properly  regarded  them  as  assets. 

The  burning  of  two  grain  warehouses  in  Chi 
cago,  the  wrecking  of  a  train  loaded  with  motor 
trucks,  three  dock  fires  in  Brooklyn,  and  the  par 
tially  suppressed  account  of  an  explosion  on 
board  a  man-of-war  in  home  waters,  provided 
the  public  with  its  daily  supply  of  pessimism. 
Scores  of  alien  suspects  were  seized,  examined 
and  interned.  Others  were  caught  with  "the 
goods,"  so  to  speak,  and  were  flung  into  prison 

62 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  63 

to  await,  in  most  cases,  the  minimum  penalty 
for  maximum  intentions.  But  at  no  time  was 
the  finger  of  accusing  Justice  levelled  at  any  one 
of  the  men  or  women  who  made  the  wheels  go 
round. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  a  cold,  blustering  day 
a  young  man  presented  himself  at  the  Carstairs 
home.  He  was  a  smart-looking,  upstanding 
chap  in  the  uniform  of  a  captain  of  Infantry. 
The  new  butler  announced  that  Miss  Hansbury 
was  at  home  and  was  expecting  Captain  Steele. 

You  would  go  far  before  finding  a  manlier, 
handsomer  fellow  than  this  young  American 
soldier.  Lithe,  and  tall,  and  graceful,  he  was 
every  inch  a  man  and  a  thoroughbred.  Only  a 
few  months  before,  he  had  given  up  a  splendid 
position  down  town,  with  a  salary  that  few 
young  men  commanded  and  prospects  that  even 
fewer  entertained,  and  eagerly  offered  himself, 
heart  and  soul,  to  the  army  that  was  to  lift  his 
country  out  of  the  pit  of  commercialism  and 
give  it  a  place  among  the  proud. 

He  had  won  his  sword  and  his  shoulder  straps 
with  the  ease  of  one  who  earnestly  strives,  and 


64  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

at  the  same  time  lie  had  conquered  in  an  enter 
prise  sweetly  remote  from  the  horrors  of  war. 
Louise  Hanshury,  beautiful  and  gifted,  was 
wearing  the  emblem  of  surrender  on  the  third 
finger  of  her  left  hand. 

He  was  to  dine  with  the  Carstairs  that  eve 
ning  ;  as  a  privileged  person,  he  came  long  ahead 
of  the  other  guests  of  the  evening.  There  was 
to  be  a  distinguished  company.  A  Cabinet  offi 
cer,  a  prominent  Southern  Senator,  an  Admiral 
of  the  Navy,  a  Foreign  Ambassador,  to  say 
nothing  of  more  than  one  potentate  in  the  realm 
of  finance.  And  women  whose  names  were  not 
more  widely-known  than  their  deeds  in  these 
days  of  great  endeavour,— women  who  had  put 
aside  frivolity  and  selfishness  and  social  glut 
tony  for  the  cold,  hard  business  of  making  the 
country  safe. 

Mrs.  Carstairs,  herself,  was  the  chairman  of 
one  of  the  most  important  of  the  Relief  Organi 
zations  controlled  and  operated  exclusively  by 
women ;  far  from  being  a  mere  figure-head,  she 
was  an  active,  zealous  worker,  an  inspiration 
to  her  associates. 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  65 

One  of  the  guests  of  the  evening  was  to  be  an 
Italian  Countess  whose  labours  in  the  war 
hospitals  of  her  native  land  had  made  her 
one  of  the  most  conspicuous  women  in  all 
Europe. 

Louise  Hansbury  was  the  daughter  of  Daven 
port  Carstairs'  only  sister,  now  deceased. 
Since  the  death  of  her  mother, — her  father  had 
died  when  she  was  a  small  child, — the  girl  had 
made  her  home  with  this  adoring  uncle.  She 
possessed  a  somewhat  meagre  fortune, — suffi 
cient  to  guarantee  independence,  however,  if 
she  chose  to  care  for  herself, — a  circumstance 
that  would  have  excited  resistance  in  Davenport 
Carstairs  had  it  ever  come  up  for  discussion. 

"How  are  you,  dearest?"  inquired  the  young 
officer,  holding  her  off  to  look  anxiously,  search- 
ingly  into  her  eyes.  The  colour  of  health  was 
just  beginning  to  flow  in  her  cheeks. 

"Gorgeous,"  she  replied,  her  eyes  agleam 
with  love  and  happiness. 

6  '  Go  slow, ' '  he  said  gently.  * '  Don 't  tax  your 
self  too  much.  It's  a  serious  job,  this  business 
of  getting  well." 


66  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

"But  I  am  well,  you  goose.  I  never  felt  bet 
ter  in  my  life." 

"You  never  were  more  beautiful,"  he  said 
softly. 

"I'd  much  rather  hear  you  say  that  than 
something  really  serious,"  she  cried,  smiling 
divinely  into  his  dazzled  eyes. 

"You've  had  pneumonia,"  he  said  sternly, 
after  the  moment  it  took  to  regain  a  temporar 
ily  lost  air  of  authority.  "Mighty  sick  you've 
been,  darling, — and — " 

"And  I'm  not  to  get  my  feet  wet,  or  sit  in  a 
draft,  or —  Very  good,  Captain !  Orders  is  or 
ders,  sir."  She  stood  off  and  saluted  him  with 
mock  solemnity.  "I'm  so  glad  you  came  early, 
Derrol,"  she  cried,  abruptly  abandoning  her 
frivolous  air.  "I've — I've  wanted  you  so 
much.  This  has  been  a  long — oh,  an  age,  dear. 
You  knew  that  poor  Hodges  was  killed  by  an 
automobile,  didn't  you?  I  never  know  what  I 
put  in  my  letters.  And  there  is  all  this  talk 
about  Belgium  being  a  nest  of  spies  at  the  out 
set,  and — oh,  that  would  be  too  much.  Sit  here 
with  me,  Derrol,  and — you  might  hold  me  close 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  67 

to  you, — just  for  a  little  while.  It — yes,  it  does 
give  me  strength  to  feel  your  arms  about  me." 

After  a  few  moments,  the  troubled  look  that 
had  been  lurking  in  his  eyes  for  a  long  time, 
reappeared.  A  light  frown  clouded  his  brow. 
He  glanced  over  his  shoulder,  and,  when  he 
spoke,  his  voice  was  even  lower  than  it  had 
been  before. 

"Louise  dear,  something  very  strange  and 
mysterious  has  happened.  Don't  be  alarmed, 
dear.  It  has  turned  out  all  right.  But, — 'gad, 
it  might  have  resulted  very  seriously.  Do  you 
remember  that  I  told  you  about  ten  days  ago, — 
in  this  very  room, — that  I  suspected  a  certain 
officer  in  our  camp  of  being — well,  crooked  ?" 

"Yes, — I  remember  quite  well,  Derrol.  Is — 
is  he?" 

He  smiled  grimly.  "That  remains  to  be 
seen.  I  had  observed  one  or  two  things  about 
him  that  excited  my  suspicions,  but  I  mentioned 
the  matter  to  no  one.  The  next  day  after  I 
spoke  to  you  about  it,  I  decided  to  go  to  head 
quarters  with  my  fears.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
by  that  time  I  really  had  something  tangible  to 


68  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

report.  I  was  received  by  the  general  himself. 
He  was  dumbfounded.  Instantly  an  investiga 
tion  was  started.  The  officer  I  mentioned  was 
missing  from  camp.  It  was  found  that  he  had 
gone  to  New  York  the  night  before,  but  was 
expected  back  in  the  morning — just  as  I  was. 
That  was  ten  days  ago.  He  has  never  returned. 
It  has  been  proved  beyond  all  question  that  he 
was  a  spy.  There  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that 
he  got  a  tip  while  in  New  York,  and  beat  it  for 
parts  unknown.  Now  the  infernal  part  of  the 
business  is  that  I  never  mentioned  my  sus 
picions  to  a  soul  except  to  you, — never  even 
breathed  them  outside  of  this  room  until  the 
next  day. ' ' 

She  was  staring  at  him  in  perplexity.    "But 
— but,  Derrol  dear,  what  does  it  all  mean?    You 
— you  certainly  cannot  think  that  I  repeated — " 
"Of  course  not,  dear, — certainly  not.    I — " 
"In  the  first  place,  I  had  not  been  outside  the 
apartment,"  she  went  on  in  suppressed  excite 
ment.    "And  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour 
that  I  did  not  mention  the  matter  to  a  soul  in 
this  house.    Not  one  word,  Derrol.    If  you — " 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  69 

4 'Calm  yourself,  Louise, "  he  urged,  pressing 
her  hands.  "The  chances  are  that  he  found 
out  he  was  suspected  before  he  left  camp,  and 
even  as  I  was  telling  you  he  may  have  been  on 
his  way  to  safety.  I  have  not  told  any  one  that 
I  spoke  of  the  matter  here, — you  may  be  quite 
sure  of  that.  That  would  bring  trouble  and 
annoyance  to  you  and — well,  I  couldn't  allow 
that,  you  know.  Just  the  same,  he  has  disap 
peared,  completely,  utterly.  He  got  the  scent 
somehow,  and  didn't  lose  a  minute.  Saved 
himself  from  facing  a  firing  squad,  you  may  be 
sure.  So  far  as  we  have  been  able  to  discover, 
I  am  the  only  man  who  knew  that  he  was  up  to 
something  wrong.  That's  the  maddening  part 
of  it.  I — you  see,  I  actually  had  the  goods  on 
him." 

"You  looked  over  your  shoulder  just  now, 
Derrol,"  she  said,  the  colour  ebbing  from  her 
cheek.  "Do  you — do  you  suspect  any  one 
here?  Any  one  of  the  servants?  They  have 
all  been  with  us  for  years, — except  poor 
Hodges,  and  he  is  dead, — and  I  know  that  Uncle 
Davenport  trusts  them  implicitly." 


70  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

He  held  her  a  little  closer.  His  lips  were 
close  to  her  ear,  and  the  half -whispered  words 
were  fraught  with  the  deepest  meaning. 

"See  here,  Louise,  it's  a  desperately  serious 
thing  to  say, — and  I  know  I'm  a  fresh,  half- 
baked  upstart,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, — but 
I  just  can't  help  feeling  that  if  I  hadn't  spoken 
of  that  matter  here  last  week,  we  would  have 
nabbed  Mr.  Spy  practically  red-handed." 

* '  Oh,  Derr ol ! ' '  she  whispered,  aghast.  ' i  You 
don't  know  what  you  are  saying." 

"It's  the  way  I  feel,  just  the  same,"  said  he 
stubbornly. 

"Then  you  do  think  the  warning  came  from 
this  house?"  She  attempted  to  withdraw  her 
self  from  his  arms. 

"God  bless  you,  darling, — I  don't  think  it 
came  from  you,  or  in  any  way  through  you," 
he  cried  miserably. 

"Then,  whom  do  you  suspect?"  she  de 
manded. 

"It  might  have  been  Hodges,"  he  said,  his 
eyes  narrowing  as  he  looked  away  from  her. 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  71 

"But  Hodges  was  an  Englishman,  and  vio 
lently  anti-German.  It  couldn't  have  been 
Hodges." 

"In  any  event,  he's  dead  and  can't  defend 
himself, "  said  he.  "I  trust  you,  dearest,  not 
to  repeat  a  word  of  what  I  Ve  just  been  saying, 
— not  a  word  to  any  one." 

"You  are  very  foolish,  Derrol, — but  I  prom 
ise.  Not  even  to  Uncle  Davenport  or  Aunt 
Frieda.  They  would  be  shocked  beyond  words 
if  they  knew  you — " 

"That's  right,  dear, — not  even  to  Mr.  or  Mrs. 
Carstairs, — or  that  bustling  young  son  of 
theirs." 

"It  would  be  far  more  sensible  to  suspect  me 
than  either  of  them, ' '  she  said. 

A  latch-key  turned  in  the  front  door,  and  a 
moment  later  young  Alfred  Carstairs  came 
whistling  into  the  hall. 

"Hullo ! "  he  called  out,  peering  in  upon  them 
from  the  dimly  lighted  hallway.  He  was  shed 
ding  his  overcoat.  "How's  the  camp,  Derrol  f 
Getting  into  shape  ? " 


72  SHOT  WITH  CBIMSON 

"Getting  shapelier  every  minute,"  said  Der- 
rol  Steele,  crossing  over  to  shake  hands  with  the 
youth. 

"Where's  mother?"  inquired  Alfred,  looking 
over  the  officer's  shoulder  at  his  cousin,  who  had 
not  risen. 

"Lying  down,  Alfie.  She  has  been  on  the  go 
all  day.  Much  beauty  is  required  for  this  even 
ing.  She's  giving  it  a  chance  to  catch  her 
napping. ' ' 

"By  golly,  it's  the  only  thing  that  ever  does 
catch  her  napping,"  said  Alfred  warmly. 
"She's  a  wonder,  Derrol.  She'd  be  a  field- 
marshal  if  she  ever  got  into  the  army." 

"I  haven't  the  least  doubt  of  it,"  said  Cap 
tain  Steele,  smiling.  Even  as  he  uttered  the 
jesting  words,  a  strange,  uncanny  sense  of  their 
importance  took  root  in  his  mind. 

Very  serious  topics  were  discussed  by  the 
guests  at  Mrs.  Carstairs'  dinner  that  evening. 
No  one  felt  the  least  restraint,  nor  the  slightest 
hesitancy  in  speaking  freely  of  matters  that 
never  were  mentioned  in  the  open.  Questions 
that  could  not  have  been  answered  outside  the 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  73 

most  secret  recesses  of  the  State  department 
were  frankly  asked  here, — and  answered  by 
some  one  who  spoke  with  authority.  No  man 
feared  his  neighbour,  nor  his  neighbour's  wife, 
for  here  were  assembled  only  those  to  whom  the 
Government  itself  could  look  with  confidence. 
These  were  the  people  on  the  inside  of  every 
thing,  the  spokes  of  the  inner  wheel, — the  people 
who  knew  what  was  going  on  in  Washington, 
in  London,  and  in  Paris.  No  alien  ears  were 
here  to  listen,  no  alien  eyes  to  watch ;  sanctuary 
for  the  true  and  loyal. 

One  man  there  held  his  tongue,  and  spoke  not 
of  the  things  that  were  vital:  Captain  Derrol 
Steele.  It  was  not  modesty  alone  that  kept  him 
silent  in  this  imposing  group,  nor  the  recogni 
tion  of  his  own  insignificance.  He  had  had  his 
lesson.  He  was  young  enough  to  profit  by  it. 

True,  the  wine  may  have  had  something  to  do 
with  it.  It  usually  does.  A  beguiling  lubricant 
is  this  thing  that  gets  into  the  rustiest  of  brains 
and  produces  a  smooth  combination  of  thought 
and  thoughtlessness.  In  any  case,  tongues 
wagged  loosely  and  wits  were  never  keener  than 


74  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

in  this  atmosphere  of  ripe  security.  A  good 
many  secrets  were  out  for  an  airing.  They 
were  supposed,  in  good  time,  to  get  back  into 
their  closets  and  lie  there  as  snugly  as  if  they 
had  never  been  disturbed. 

Mrs.  Carstairs  was  never  more  brilliant  than 
on  this  particular  evening.  Always  clever, — 
but  never  witty, — she  was  at  her  best  when  sur 
rounded  by  personalities  such  as  these;  when 
confronted  by  problems  which  permitted  her 
profound  mentality  to  rise  to  its  highest  level 
and  her  singularly  clear-headed  vision  to  pro 
ject  itself  across  spaces  that  defy  even  the  most 
far-seeing  of  men.  She  went  below  the  surface 
of  everything;  she  saw  nothing  from  a  super 
ficial  point  of  view.  What  men  liked  in  her, 
and  what  other  women  envied  and  sometimes 
hated,  was  the  rare  faculty  of  saying  little  un 
less  she  was  prepared  to  say  a  great  deal  more. 

More  than  one  great  statesman  had  said,  on 
occasion,  that  it  was  too  bad  she  wasn't  a  man! 
With  a  mind  like  that,  well,  there's  no  telling! 
No  wonder  Davenport  Carstairs  was  proud  of 
her! 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  75 

And  yet,  with  all  this  unstinted  praise,  with 
all  this  respectful  admiration,  there  was  not  a 
man  among  them  who  would  have  exchanged 
places  with  Davenport  Carstairs.  Despite  her 
beauty,  her  no  uncertain  charm  of  manner,  her 
strangely  old-fashioned  femininity,  no  man  cov 
eted  her.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were  a  little 
bit  awed  by  Frieda  Carstairs. 

The  foreign  ambassador  was  leaving  early. 
He  explained  to  his  hostess  that  a  very  im 
portant  conference  was  to  be  held  that  night 
in  his  rooms  at  the  hotel.  He  was  profoundly 
apologetic,  but  if  she  knew  how  much  depended 
on  the  outcome  of  this  very,  very  important 
meeting, — and  so  on,  and  so  on.  She  said  she 
understood  perfectly;  affairs  of  state,  she  went 
on  to  say,  always  lead  up  to  a  state  of  affairs, 
and  that,  of  course,  was  hopeless  unless  taken 
in  time. 

He  was  a  little  bewildered.  Fearing  that  she 
had  not  fully  grasped  his  meaning,  he  pro 
ceeded  to  elaborate  a  little.  It  wasn't  really  a 
state  of  affairs,  nor,  for  that  matter,  an  affair  of 
state.  Time,  of  course, — yes,  time  was  the  es- 


76  SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON 

sence  of  everything  in  these  bitter  days.  She 
was  quite  right;  the  whole  trouble  with  the 
Allies  had  been  the  wasting  of  time ;  now  they 
realized  the  importance  of  doing  things 
promptly.  She  said  she  was  glad  that  they 
were  not  letting  the  grass  grow  under  their  feet. 
He  mumbled  something  about  winter  and  the 
nothing  much  growing  outside  the  tropics,  and 
floundered  with  further  confidences. 

Leaning  quite  close  to  her  he  whispered  some 
thing  in  her  ear.  It  left  her  perfectly  calm. 

"This,  you  understand,  my  dear  madam,  is 
not  to  be  repeated, — strictly  confidential, — ab 
solutely — ah — on  the  quiet,  as  you  say  over 
here." 

"I  sha'n't  even  repeat  it  to  my  husband," 
said  she. 

The  ambassador  looked  relieved.  "I  fear  he 
would  not  approve  of  my  mentioning  a  matter 
that  he  seems  to  have  withheld  from  you  him 
self." 

She  smiled. 

"  Possess  your  soul  in  peace,  my  dear  Ambas 
sador.  I  am  as  good  as  he  at  keeping  a  secret. ' ' 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  77 

"It  is — ah — most  imperative  that  this 
shouldn't — ah — get  out,  so  to  speak,"  said  he, 
wishing  in  his  soul  that  he  had  not  let  it  out 
himself. 

"You  have  spoken  to  the  Sphinx,"  said  she 
gravely. 

She  happened  to  glance  down  the  table  at  this 
juncture.  Something  hypnotic  drew  her  gaze 
directly  to  Captain  Steele.  He  was  regarding 
her  steadily.  There  was  a  queer,  intent  look 
in  his  eyes.  For  an  instant  their  gaze  held,  and 
then  he  looked  away.  She  turned  to  speak  to 
the  man  on  her  left.  If  he  had  been  an  observ 
ing  person,  he  would  have  noticed  the  tired  look 
that  suddenly  clouded  her  eyes, — briefly,  flit- 
tingly,  it  is  true,  but  remaining  long  enough  to 
have  been  detected  by  one  less  absorbed  in  him 
self  than  he.  No  doubt  his  pride  would  have 
been  hurt  had  he  observed  it. 

The  little  Italian  Countess  spoke  very  frankly 
of  conditions  in  her  country,  of  specific  needs 
that  called  for  immediate  action  on  the  part  of 
the  American  government,  of  plots  and  counter 
plots  in  the  very  heart  of  the  army,  of  political 


78  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

and  ecclesiastical  intrigue  that  sapped  the  cour 
age  of  the  people,  and  of  the  serious  situation 
on  the  Isonzo  where  victorious  Italian  armies 
were  in  constant  danger  of  collapse  because  of 
an  utter  lack  of  support  from  behind  the  lines. 
She  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  in  the  event  of  a 
supreme  assault  by  the  Austro-Germans,  the 
Italian  armies  would  have  to  relinquish  their 
hard-earned  gains  and  fall  back, — perhaps  in 
actual  defeat. 

"But  the  Austrians  are  down  and  out  them 
selves,  "  declared  the  cabinet  member.  He 
spoke  loudly,  for  he  was  at  the  far  end  of  the 
table.  "They  haven't  a  good  solid  kick  left 
in  them,  much  less  anything  like  a  supreme  as 
sault,  Countess." 

"Let  us  hope  you  are  right,"  returned  the 
Italian  woman,  the  line  deepening  between  her 
eyes.  "I  only  know  that  the  Italians  are  in  no 
condition  to  withstand  a  great  offensive  if  it 
should  come.  Oh,  if  only  England,  and  France, 
— and  you,  gentlemen, — could  but  be  made  to 
realize  the  importance  of  a  real  victory  over  the 
Austrians, — if  you  could  only  be  made  to  see 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  79 

how  desperately  we  are  in  need  of  all  the  sup 
port  you  can  give  us  in  men,  and  guns,  and  food, 
and — aye,  in  confidence,  too.  If  the  German 
Emperor  knew  the  truth  about  our  position  on 
the  Isonzo  and  in  Trentino,  he — ah,  he  would 
not  wait,  he  would  not  hesitate.  He  would 
move  like  lightning.  He  would  send  a  million 
men  to  the  aid  of  the  Austrians.  He  would 
strike  with  all  his  might, — and  then,  when  it  was 
all  over,  you, — all  of  you, — would  grate  your 
teeth  while  he  laughed  over  another  of  your 
blunders. ' ' 

The  men  all  smiled  tolerantly.  She  was  a 
woman.  That  was  just  the  way  a  high-strung, 
emotional  woman  would  talk. 

"It  would  be  quite  simple,  Countess, "  said 
Davenport  Carstairs,  "if  the  Kaiser  had  even 
half  a  million  men  to  spare.  He  is  being  kept 
pretty  busy  in  France  and  Flanders  just  now." 

"Ah,  but  in  Russia,"  she  cried  vehemently. 
"What  of  the  damned  Russians?"  In  her  ex 
citement  she  spoke  the  language  of  the  army. 
Of  her  hearers,  the  men  seemed  a  little  more 
shocked  than  the  women.  "Are  they  keeping 


80  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

him  pretty  busy?  No!  Are  they  holding  his 
vast  armies  in  check?  No!  They  are  doing 
more  than  that.  They  are  shoving  him  back, 
driving  him  and  all  of  his  men  and  guns  out  of 
Eussia.  Driving  them  down  into  Italy  and  over 
to  Flanders,  that  is  what  they  are  doing.  And 
you, — you  and  France  and  England, — will  not 
wake  up  until  it  is  too  late.  When  the  beastly 
Russians  have  driven  the  Germans  into  Paris, 
and  across  the  English  Channel,  and  down  to 
Rome,  then  you  will  understand." 

"Bu^;  the  Italians  will  hold  the  ground  they 
have  gained,"  protested  one  of  the  men.  "I 
talked  with  members  of  the  commission  before 
they  sailed  the  other  day,  and  there  wasn't  one 
of  them  who  expressed  the  slightest  uneasiness 
about  the  Italian  front.  On  the  other  hand, 
they  were  of  the  opinion  that  the  Italians  would 
continue  to  advance.  The  Austrians  are  shot 
to  pieces." 

4  *  Italy  was  not  represented  in  that  secret  mis 
sion,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the  Countess,  a  trifle 
curtly.  "You  do  not  know  what  the  Italians 
know,  and  what  they  are  actually  dreading. 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  81 

They  know  they  cannot  resist  a  great  offen 
sive.  " 

"Well,  as  long  as  the  Germans  are  ignorant 
of  the  true  state  of  affairs,  I  can 't  see  that  there 
is  much  to  worry  about,"  said  Carstairs  pleas 
antly. 

"But  the  Germans  will  not  remain  in  igno 
rance  for  ever,  Mr.  Carstairs, "  exclaimed  the 
Countess.  "They  find  out  everything, — every 
thing,  in  time." 

"Not  every  thing, "  said  the  Admiral  of  the 
navy,  blandly.  "Their  marvellous  spy  system 
failed  completely  in  the  case  of  the  Franco-Brit 
ish  special  mission.  The  members  of  the  party 
came,  remained  here  for  more  than  a  fortnight, 
sailed  for  home  last  week,  and  Germany  never 
had  so  much  as  an  inkling  of  the  visit.  By  this 
time  the  Campion  is  no  doubt  safely  through 
the  danger  zone.  I  call  that  beating  the  devil 
with  his  own  stick. ' ' 

"The  Campion?"  feU  sharply  from  the  lips 
of  Mrs.  Carstairs. 

"You  are  mistaken,  Admiral.  They  sailed 
on  the  Elston,"  said  her  husband. 


82  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

The  Admiral  beamed.  "My  dear  sir,  the  en 
tire  party  was  transferred  to  the  Campion  ten 
hours  after  the  Elston  sailed  out  of  this  port. 
The  Secretary  took  no  chances.  He  had  that 
devilish  Kitchener  betrayal  in  mind.  There 
was  the  possibility,  you  know,  of  a  leak  some 
where.  One  never  can  tell.  So  everything  that 
could  be  thought  of  was  done  to  frustrate  the 
*  system.'  The  destruction  of  the  Elston  with 
those  men  on  board  would  have  been  a  greater 
disaster  to  the  Allies  than  the  loss  of  Kitchener 
or  half  the  battle  front  in  France.  I  happen  to 
know  the  transfer  was  made  safely  and  accord 
ing  to  plans.  The  Elston  continued  her  voyage 
in  convoy,  but  she  was  laden  with  nothing  more 
precious  than  food  for  the  Germans. " 

"Food  for  the  Germans?"  cried  the  Italian 
Countess,  aghast. 

The  Admiral's  smile  broadened.  "The  most 
indigestible  food  that  is  made  in  America, "  said 
he.  After  a  moment's  perplexity,  she  smiled 
and  clapped  her  hands. 

Once  more  Mrs.  Carstairs'  gaze  was  drawn 
irresistibly  to  the  young  captain  half  way  up 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  83 

the  table.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  again, 
and  again,  as  before,  after  an  instant  they  were 
averted.  Something  in  his  steady  look  seared 
her  like  a  hot  iron.  He  seemed  to  be  searching 
the  innermost  recesses  of  her  brain, — and  she 
quailed.  His  face  grew  suddenly  pale  and 
drawn, — paler  even  than  her  own. 

The  Admiral,  having  come  sharply  into  prom 
inence,  continued  to  play  his  high  cards.  He 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  neglecting  a  dessert  of 
which  he  was  especially  fond,  and  with  consid 
erable  bumptiousness  rambled  on  sonorously. 

"We've  been  expecting  word  all  day  from 
Admiral  Sims.  The  convoy  is  a  swift  one. 
Both  the  Campion  and  the  Elston  should  reach 
port  today, — or  at  the  very  latest  tomorrow. 
I  confess  we  've  all  been  anxious.  They  are  wir 
ing  me  from  Washington  as  soon  as —  By  the 
way,  Mrs.  Carstairs,  I  took  the  liberty  of  in 
structing  my  aide  to  telephone  me  here  in  case 
the  report  comes  tonight.  Hope  you  don't 
mind.  I  thought — ' ' 

"Of  course  I  don't  mind,  Admiral,"  she  said 
warmly.  "On  the  contrary,  I  am  glad  you 


84  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

thought  of  it.    We  are  all  terribly  interested." 

Late  in  the  evening, — in  fact,  just  as  the 
guests  were  preparing  to  depart, — the  Admiral 
was  called  to  the  telephone.  When  he  rejoined 
the  group  a  few  minutes  afterward,  his  expres 
sion  was  serious. 

"Our  precautions  were  well  taken,  ladies 
and  gentlemen,"  he  said.  "The  Elston  was 
torpedoed  this  morning.  Practically  everybody 
on  board  was  lost." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then  Cap 
tain  Steele  spoke. 

"So  the  Germans  did  know  that  the  Commis 
sion  sailed  out  .of  New  York  harbour  on  the 
Elston.  It  would  seem,  Admiral,  that  the  spy 
sits  pretty  close  to  the  head  of  your  board, — I 
mean,  of  course,  your  board  of  strategy." 

"By  Gad!"  growled  the  distressed  sailor- 
man.  "It — it  is  absolutely  incredible.  There 
couldn't  have  been  a  leak  down  there." 

"Have  you  an  idea  how  many  people 
actually  knew  that  the  party  was  sailing  on  the 
Elston?"  inquired  the  young  man.  His  face 
was  very  white. 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  85 

The  Admiral  glanced  around  the  room,  rather 
helplessly.  "Of  course  the  fact  was  known  to 
quite  a  number  of  people, — such  as  we  are  here, 
— but,  what  are  we  to  do  if  we  can't  trust  our 
selves?  Nothing  could  have  been  more  care 
fully  guarded.  Not  a  line  in  the  newspapers, 
not  a  word  uttered  in  public,  not  a — " 

"The  information  could  not  have  come  from 
any  one  directly  connected  with  the  Navy  de 
partment,  Admiral, "  said  Steele  slowly. 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  sir,"  said 
the  Admiral,  stiffening. 

"For  the  simple  and  obvious  reason  that  it 
was  the  Elston  and  not  the  Campion  they  went 
after.  A  spy  in  such  a  position  would  have 
known  of  the  transfer. ' ' 

"On  the  other  hand,  it  may  have  been  pure 
chance  that  they  attacked  the  Elston/'  said 
Davenport  Carstairs,  a  queer  huskiness  in  his 
voice.  '  '  Coincidence,  and  nothing  more.  Thank 
heaven,  they  didn't  get  the  Campion." 

Steele  was  the  last  to  leave.  He  said  good 
night  to  Louise  Hansbury  in  the  little  hall 
outside.  He  had  rung  for  the  elevator.  The 


86  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

door,  on  the  latch,  had  been  closed  behind  them 
and  they  were  quite  alone  for  a  few  min 
utes. 

"Louise,"  he  said,  and  suddenly  his  voice, — 
scarcely  more  than  a  whisper, — sounded  strange 
and  unnatural  to  her,  "it's  a  horrible  thing  to 
say,  but  the — the  trouble  is  right  here  in  this 
house.  You  heard  what  the  Admiral  said?  I 
can't  explain  how  it  all  happened,  but  suddenly 
I  had  a — well,  a  revelation.  A  great,  flaring 
light  seemed  to  flash  in  my  face.  I  give  you  my 
word,  it  was  actually  blinding.  I  thought  my 
heart  would  never  beat  again.  I  saw  through 
everything.  It  is  all  as  plain  as  day  to  me. 
God  help  us  all,  dearest, — it's — it's  unspeak 
able.  I've  just  got  to  tell  you, — so  that  you 
may  be  on  your  guard.  Tomorrow — or  as  soon 
as  possible,  at  any  rate, — you  must  make  an  ex 
cuse  to  get  away  from  here, — for  a  visit,  or 
anything  you  can  think  of.  But  get  away  you 
must!" 

"Do  you  know  what  you  are  saying,  Der- 
rol?"  she  whispered,  clutching  his  arm.  She 
was  trembling  like  a  leaf,  and  swayed.  An  ex- 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  87 

pression  of  the  utmost  dread  and  horror  filled 
her  eyes. 

"Yes, — yes,  I  do.  It  is  terrible, — but,  by 
heaven,  it's  true, — as  true  as  we  live  and 
breathe/' 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  "Oh, 
Derrol, — I  felt  it  too, — tonight.  What  are  we 
to  do  ?  What  can  be  done  ? ' ' 

"Hush!  Here  is  the  elevator.  I  can't  say 
anything  more  tonight.  I  don 't  have  to  go  back 
to  Camp  till  tomorrow  night.  Tomorrow  morn 
ing, — I'll  call  up.  I  must  see  you  alone — and 
not  here." 

"I  go  out  every  morning  for  a  walk, — about 
eleven,"  she  breathed. 

The  elevator  door  slid  open. 

' i  Good  night,  "said  he.  She  clasped  his  hand 
in  silence.  Then  she  went  back  into  the  apart 
ment,  and,  as  one  drugged,  passed  the  drawing- 
room  door  and  staggered  down  the  hall  toward 
her  bedroom. 

Mrs.  Carstairs,  alone  in  the  drawing-room, 
saw  the  girl  pass,  and  stepped  quickly  to  the 
door. 


88  SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON 

1  'Louise,  dear, — are  you  ill?"  she  called  out. 

' '  No,— Aunt  Frieda.  I— I  'in  all  right.  Good 
night. " 

"Good  night,  dear.     Sleep  late." 

The  door  down  the  long  hall  closed  softly,  and 
Frieda  Carstairs  turned  back  into  the  drawing- 
room  with  a  sigh.  Her  husband  was  looking 
over  the  night  mail  that  had  been  piled  on  his 
desk  in  the  study.  She  went  in  to  him. 

"I  wonder  if  poor,  dear  Alfred  is  struggling 
with  that  abominable  nightmare  of  his,"  she 
said.  "Beally,  Davenport,  the  boy  is  wearing 
himself  out.  I  don't  see  why  physics  should  be 
so  difficult  for  him." 

"They  were  difficult  for  me,  my  dear,"  said 
he,  looking  up.  Their  eyes  met,  and  she  smiled 
gently,  lovingly.  He  took  her  firm,  steady  hand 
and  pressed  it  to  his  cheek. 

"I  think  I'll  run  in  and  shoo  him  off  to  bed. 
If  only  he  wouldn't  smoke  that  dreadful  pipe 
while  he  studies.  He  breathes  nothing  but 
smoke." 

* '  Doesn  't  hurt  him  a  bit, ' '  said  he.    ' '  They  've 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  89 

got  sheet-iron  lungs,  you  see, — these  sopho 
mores." 

She  left  him  and  went  down  to  her  son's 
room.  Carstairs  was  staring  fixedly,  intently 
into  space  when  she  returned, — he  knew  not 
how  long  afterwards.  He  came  out  of  his  rev 
erie  with  a  start  when  she  spoke  to  him  from 
the  door. 

"Alfie  is  going  out  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air," 
she  said.  "It  seemed  to  me  his  room  was  stuf 
fier  and  smokier  than  I've  ever  known  it  to  be 
before.  Eeally,  dear,  he  is  dreadfully  trying. 
He—" 

"My  dear,  you've  never  been  a  boy,"  said 
he,  collecting  himself  and  smiling.  "You  don't 
know  what  it  is  to  be  completely  self-satisfied." 

"I'll  be  back  in  a  few  minutes,"  said  Alfred, 
coming  up  behind  his  mother.  "Are  you  going 
to  sit  up  much  longer,  mother?" 

"A  little  while.  Hurry  back,  dear.  Don't 
go  out  without  your  overcoat.  There  is  quite  a 
chill  in  the  air. ' ' 


CHAPTER  V 

ME,  PAUL  ZIMMERLEIN'S  telephone 
rang  shortly  before  midnight.  He  lived 
in  a  small,  exclusive  hotel  on  one  of  the  cross- 
town  streets,  near  Fifth  Avenue.  A  brief  con 
versation  over  the  wire  ensued.  A  few  minutes 
later  he  appeared  at  the  desk  in  the  office  down 
stairs,  dressed  for  the  street.  He  was  very 
angry. 

6 '  Why  was  I  not  informed  when  I  came  in  this 
evening  that  Mr.  Prince  had  called  up  and  was 
expecting  me  to  join  his  party  at  the  Helvetia 
for  supper,  Mr.  Eogers  ?  He  rang  me  up  at  nine 
o'clock  and  instructed  you  to  put  the  message 
in  my  box. ' ' 

"I  have  no  recollection  of — " 

"Of  course  you  haven't.  You  never  do  have 
any  recollection.  None  of  you.  I  shall  take  the 
matter  up  with  the  manager  in  the  morning, 
Eogers.  It  has  happened  before.  The  least 

90 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  91 

you  could  have  done  was  to  stick  the  message 
in  my  box." 

"I  will  inquire  of  the  telephone  operator. 
The  regular  boy  is  off  tonight.  If  there  has 
been  any  carelessness,  Mr.  Zimmerlein,  it  has 
been  with  her, — not  with  us,  sir,"  said  the  clerk, 
with  the  servility  that  is  sometimes  mistaken  for 
civility  on  the  part  of  hotel  clerks. 

"I  haven't  time  to  listen  to  her  excuses. 
They  have  been  waiting  for  me  since  eleven 
o'clock,  and  I  have  been  in  my  room  since 
ten." 

"I  know,  sir.  It  was  a  little  before  ten  when 
you  came  in." 

"Well,  be  good  enough  to  investigate.  I 
warn  you  that  I  intend  to  complain  in  the  morn 
ing." 

"I'm  sorry,  sir,"  began  the  clerk,  but  Zim 
merlein  was  already  on  his  way  to  the  street. 

The  night-clerk  scowled  after  him,  and  then 
retired  behind  the  key-rack  to  consult  the  oper 
ator. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  he  demanded. 
"  Zimmerlein 's  sore  as  a  crab  about  not  getting 


92  SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON 

a  message  that  came  in  at  nine, — he  says, — and 
he 's  going  to  raise  hell  about  it. ' ' 

"  Nobody  called  him  up, — not  till  just  a  few 
minutes  ago.  It's  the  old  gaj.  I  heard  what 
the  guy  said  to  Zimmerlein, — about  calling  up 
at  nine  and  giving  directions  and  all  that  bunk, 
— and  I  had  to  hold  my  tongue  between  my  teeth 
to  keep  from  butting  in  and  telling  him  he  was 
a  liar,  and — " 

"Tell  that  to  Mr.  Coxhorn  in  the  morning, " 
broke  in  the  clerk,  and  moved  languidly  away. 
That  was  the  extent  of  his  investigations. 

The  Helvetia  was  a  brisk  five  minutes'  walk 
from  Zimmerlein's  hotel.  He  did  it  in  three. 

"Is  Mr.  Prince  entertaining  in  his  rooms  or 
in  the  cafe?'7  he  inquired  at  the  desk. 

"In  the  cafe,  Mr.  Zimmerlein." 

"Thanks." 

Fifteen  minutes  later,  he  sauntered  up  to  a 
table  at  which  a  party  of  seven  or  eight  people 
were  seated.  Nodding  and  smiling  in  his  most 
amiable  manner  to  the  ladies,  he  laid  his  hand 
on  the  shoulder  of  one  of  the  men. 

"Sorry,  old  man,  but  they  didn't  give  me  your 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  93 

message.  I  should  have  been  sitting  on  the 
doorstep  waiting  for  you,  if  I'd  known  you 
really  wanted  me.  Thanks  for  calling  me  up 
again.  It  was  good  of  you,  and  I  '11  try  to  make 
up  for  all  the  lost  time  and  trouble  by  being  as 
agreeable  as  I  know  how  to  be."  He  added  an 
encircling  smile.  The  ladies  appeared  to  cheer 
up  measurably. 

The  man  addressed,  a  huge  individual  with  a 
tremendous  expanse  of  white  shirt  front,  be 
trayed  not  the  slightest  sign  of  surprise  or  con 
fusion.  With  all  the  profound  affability  of  a 
far- Westerner,  he  made  the  newcomer  welcome. 
If  his  steel-grey  eyes  bored  inquiringly  into 
Zimmerlein's  for  the  briefest  instant,  no  one 
else  at  the  table  was  aware  of  the  fact.  Nor  did 
any  one  observe  the  warning  that  shot  back  from 
the  narrowing  eyes  of  the  belated  guest. 

A  waiter  produced  a  chair  for  Zimmerlein, 
and  placed  it  between  two  of  the  ladies,  who, 
with  evident  eagerness,  made  room  for  him. 
His  smile  deepened  as  he  shook  his  head,  af 
fecting  dismay. 

"Not  yet,  but  soon,"  he  pleaded.    "I  ran 


94  SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON 

across  an  old  friend  of  yours  out  in  the  lobby, 
Prince.  Stillwell.  I  told  him  you'd  be  happy 
to  have  him  join  you,  but  as  he's  just  off  the 
train,  he  says  he 's  filthy. ' ' 

" Where  is  he?"  cried  Prince,  starting  up. 
"I  wouldn't  miss  seeing  him  for  anything  in  the 
world.  An  old  pal  of  mine  in  Japan,"  he  ex 
plained  to  his  guests. 

"If  you  will  excuse  us  both,  we'll — "  began 
Zimmerlein  apologetically. 

"Come  along,"  interrupted  Prince,  grabbing 
the  other 's  arm.  <  '  Good  old  Still !  We  11  bring 
him  back  with  us  if  we  have  to  drag  him  in. 
You'll  love  him,"  he  added  boisterously. 

.The  two  men  hurried  from  the  cafe.  They 
did  not  speak  until  they  reached  a  deserted  cor 
ner  of  the  hotel  lobby. 

"What's  up?"  demanded  Prince. 

"I've  just  had  some  damnably  disturbing 
news.  It 's  pretty  bad,  but  I  think  I  've  got  word 
to  the  right  people  in  time  to  head  off — trouble. 
I  was  just  going  to  bed  when  I  was  called  up  on 
the  'phone.  By  God,  he's  cool-headed,  I'll  say 
that  for  him.  Said  he  was  you,  and  wanted  to 


THEY  DID  NOT  SPEAK  UNTIL  THEY  REACHED  A  DESERTED 
CORNER  OF  THE  HOTEL  LOBBY 


'irO    .^IH'IU 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  95 

know  why  the  devil  I  hadn't  showed  up  over 
here.  I  was  wise  in  a  second.  We  met  in  the 
most  casual  manner  at  the  corner.  He  will  go 
a  long  way,  that  chap  will,  mark  my  words. 
He's  as  keen  as  a  fox  and  as  resolute  as  the 
devil.  I  can't  explain  here,  Prince.  We  must 
get  back  to  your  party.  My  alibi  lies  there,  you 
know,  if  I  should  happen  to  need  it.  You  un 
derstand,  don't  you?" 

"Certainly.  I  knew  something  was  in  the 
wind.  Is  it  serious  ?  Tell  me  that. ' ' 

"It  can  be  serious, — desperately  serious. 
But  we  can't  do  anything  now.  At  one  o'clock 
I  shall  ask  you  to  excuse  me,  Prince.  Engage 
ment  very  early  in  the  morning.  Much-needed 
rest, — and  so  on.  And,  by  the  way,  we  were 
unable  to  locate  Folwell.  He — " 

"Stillwell,  wasn't  it?" 

"So  it  was.  'Gad,  my  nerves  must  be  shot 
up  worse  than  I  thought.  At  any  rate,  he  had 
vanished." 

"Have  you  managed  to  get  in  touch  with  any 
one  else?" 

"  I  've  sent  word  to — Jehovah ! ' '    Zimmerlein 


96  SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON 

permitted  himself  what  was  meant  to  be  a  smile, 
but  was  instead  an  ugly  grin. 

" About  the  only  name  that's  safe  to  utter  in 
these  days,"  said  Prince,  looking  over  his  shoul 
der. 

"You've  done  your  bit  tonight,  my  friend, 
by  simply  being  who  and  what  and  where  you 
are.  Nothing  more  is  required  of  you." 

"I'm  not  asking  questions,"  said  Prince, 
scowling. 

"You  have  asked  one,"  snapped  Zimmerlein. 

<  '  Oh,  Lord !    Haven 't  I  a  right  to— ' ' 

"There  is  nothing  more  to  be  said  on  the  sub 
ject,"  said  the  other,  fixing  the  big  man  with  a 
look  that  caused  him  to  quail.  "You  know  as 
well  as  I  just  what  our  law  is,  Prince.  I  am  not 
above  it, — nor  are  you.  Now,  let  us  return. ' ' 

Shortly  after  one  o'clock,  Zimmerlein  said 
good  night  to  the  host  and  the  guests  upon  whom 
he  had  deliberately  imposed  himself,  and  went 
forth  into  the  night.  A  short  distance  down  the 
street,  he  was  hailed  by  a  lone  taxi-driver,  who 
called  out  in  the  laconic,  perfunctory  manner 
of  his  kind : 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  97 

"Taxi?" 

Zimmerlein  walked  on  a  few  paces,  and  then, 
apparently  reconsidering,  turned  back. 

'  '  Take  me  to  the  Pennsylvania, ' '  he  said,  and 
got  into  the  cab. 

When  he  took  his  seat,  it  was  between  two 
men  who  slunk  down  in  the  corners  and  kept 
their  faces  and  bodies  well  out  of  sight  from  the 
occupants  of  passing  cars  and  pedestrians  on 
the  sidewalk. 

An  unusual  amount  of  clatter  attended  the 
getting  under  way  of  the  car.  The  exhaust 
roared,  the  gears  grated  and  snarled,  and  the 
loose  links  of  tire-chains  banged  resoundingly 
against  the  mud-guards. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed.  Zimmerlein 
did  most  of  the  talking.  Then,  as  the  taxi  drew 
up  in  front  of  the  little  hotel  in  the  cross-town 
street,  he  got  down  and  handed  the  driver  a 
bank-note.  His  last  words,  before  leaving  the 
car,  were : 

"Remember,  now.  There  must  be  no  mis 
take,  no  slip-up.  Be  dead  sure  before  you  do  a 
thing.  He  is  to  disappear, — that's  all.  There 


98  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

must    be    no    trace, — absolutely    no    trace. " 

As  he  sauntered  into  the  hotel,  the  taxi  rat 
tled  swiftly  off  in  the  direction  of  Broadway, 
its  remaining  occupants  silent  and  white-faced, 
but  with  lips  and  jaws  rigidly  set. 

"No  complaint  after  all,  Rogers, "  said  he  to 
the  night  clerk,  rather  jauntily.  "My  friend 
confessed  that  he  hadn't  called  me  up  at  all. 
It  was  his  nice  little  way  of  stringing  me.  As 
suage  the  poor  girl's  grief  if  you  know  how, 
Rogers.  Tell  her  it's  all  right,  and  she  can 
sleep  soundly  at  the  switch.  Also,  be  good 
enough  to  say  to  her  that  I  apologize  for  my 
self  and  for  my  friend." 

Rogers  watched  him  enter  the  elevator,  and 
once  more  strolled  back  to  the  switchboard. 

"Hey!  Wake  up.  Zimmerlein's  just  come 
in.  He's  stewed  and  says  his  friend's  a  liar. 
There  won 't  be  any  court-martial. ' ' 

The  girl  yawned.  * l  Say,  has  that  darned  old 
clock  stopped,  or  is  it  still  only  ten  minutes  of 
two?  It's  been  that  for  an  hour.  Never  again 
for  me.  Next  time  Pilcher  wants  to  get  off  till 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  99 

half -past  'leven,  he  needn't  leave  a  call  for  me. 
I'm  through  accommodating  that  mutt.  My 
Gawd !  Two  o  'clock,  and  he  swore  he  'd  be  here 
by  eleven.  I  ought  to  report  him.  Do  a  guy 
like  that  a  favour  and  he —  What  was  that 
you  said  about  old  Zim-zim?  D'you  say  he  was 
soused?" 

"No.  I  said  stewed.  He's  carryin'  an  egg 
on  an  oyster  fork.  I  never  saw  him  drunk  be 
fore.'' 

At  his  usual  hour  for  breakfasting,  Mr.  Zim- 
merlein  briskly  entered  the  dining-room  the  next 
morning  and  seated  himself  at  his  customary 
table  near  the  window.  Two  morning  news 
papers  lay  beside  his  plate  of  sliced  oranges. 
His  eyes  swept  the  headlines  on  the  front  page. 
A  slight  frown  darkened  his  brow.  He  looked 
again,  a  little  more  closely.  Then  he  took  up 
the  other  paper.  A  certain  eagerness  that  had 
been  in  his  eyes  when  he  sat  down  gave  way  to 
something  bordering  on  astonishment.  His  in 
terest  passed  quickly  to  the  second,  third  and 
fourth  pages. 


100  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

There  wasn't  a  line, — not  a  solitary  line  about 
the  sinking  of  the  Elston! 

He  had  encountered  Elberon  late  in  the  after 
noon  of  the  preceding  day.  He  was  going  into 
the  club  as  the  other  came  out. 

"You  will  read  something  great  in  the  morn 
ing  papers,"  Elberson  had  said  guardedly. 
"Perhaps  in  the  extras  tonight.7' 

"I  am  always  reading  something  great  in  the 
newspapers, "  he  had  replied. 

"They  got  the  Elston.  Report  came  about 
two  o'clock.  No  details.  I  doubt  whether  it  is 
known  in  Washington  yet." 

But  the  morning  papers  had  no  account  of 
the  sinking.  Not  a  word.  What  did  it  mean? 
Could  it  be  possible  that  their  news  travelled 
so  much  faster  than  that  obtained  by  the  eager, 
avid  Press?  Were  they  even  ahead  of  Wash 
ington?  Elberon  was  in  a  position  to  know. 
He  never  went  off  half-cocked.  There  wasn't 
the  least  doubt  in  Zimmerlein's  mind  that  the 
Elston  had  been  sunk, — but  why  this  amazing 
failure  of  the  newspapers  to —  He  started  sud 
denly.  Comprehension  flooded  his  brain.  His 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON : :   ;  , :  1Q1 

eyes  lighted  up  again.  He  understood  in  a 
flash.  Suppressed!  The  news  of  the  destruc 
tion  of  the  Elston  with  all  those  vitally  impor 
tant  men  on  board, —  Why,  of  course !  It  had 
to  be  suppressed! 

Nevertheless,  he  decided  to  drop  in  and  see 
Elberon  on  his  way  down  town. 

As  for  last  night's  business,  if  it  came  to  a 
head  at  all,  it  was  after  the  papers  had  gone  to 
press.  Still,  he  took  the  time  to  run  through 
both  papers  with  unusual  thoroughness.  It  was 
barely  possible  that  a  paragraph, — one  of  those 
widely  spaced  paragraphs  that  always  exact  at 
tention, — might  have  stopped  the  presses  at  the 
last  minute. 

He  slid  indifferently  over  the  account  of  a  dis 
astrous  fire  along  the  water-front  of  an  Ameri 
can  port  from  which  heavily  laden  ships  de 
parted  almost  daily  for  French  and  English  des 
tinations.  He  knew  all  about  that . 

Elberon  was  not  at  his  place  of  business. 
This  defection  on  the  part  of  Elberon  exasper 
ated  him.  It  was  a  new  sensation.  He  could 
not  account  for  the  sudden  and  admittedly  un- 


102  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

reasonable  sense  of  irritation  that  assailed  him, 
for,  after  all,  Elberon  regulated  his  actions 
according  to  the  demands  of  his  own  business. 
The  merchant's  secretary  announced  that  he 
doubted  if  his  employer  would  be  in  the  office 
before  noon.  He  thought  he  had  gone  Christ 
mas  shopping  with  his  wife. 

"Damn  Christmas  I"  muttered  Zimmerlein  as 
he  closed  the  door  behind  him  and  stalked  off 
into  the  counter-lined  aisles  that  led  by  rectan 
gular  turns  to  the  street. 

The  business  of  the  night  just  ended  had  got 
on  his  nerves.  His  hand  shook  a  little  as  he 
paused  inside  the  doors  to  light  a  cigarette.  It 
was  a  bad  "business";  there  was  no  use  trying 
to  make  light  of  it. 

Miss  Mildred  Agnew  welcomed  him  with  a 
cheery  "Good  morning, "  and  the  alert  office- 
boy  went  her  one  better  by  adding  the  informa 
tion  that  it  was  ( '  a  fine  day,  sir. ' ' 

"Any  messages,  Miss  Agnew? "  inquired 
Zimmerlein. 

"A  telephone  call,  sir,  from  the  steward  of 
the  Black  Downs  Country  Club.  He  says  there 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  103 

is  a  leak  and  wants  to  know  if  you,  as  chairman 
of  the  house  committee,  will  do  something  about 
it  right  away. " 

"A  leak?"  he  demanded,  stopping  short. 

"So  he  said,  Mr.  Zimmerlein. ' ' 

"Get  him  on  the  telephone  and  ask  him  to 
come  in  and  see  me  at  once. ' ' 

He  was  frowning  darkly  as  the  office-boy  re 
lieved  him  of  his  hat  and  coat  and  hung  them  up 
in  the  closet.  His  mail  received  scant  attention. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  swept  the  pile  aside  and 
touched  a  button  on  the  corner  of  the  desk. 

Thorsensel  came  into  the  private  office,  carry 
ing  a  roll  of  blue-prints. 

"Any  word?"  asked  Zimmerlein,  as  the  other 
carefully  and  deliberately  spread  the  prints  on 
the  desk  and  weighted  one  end  of  them  down 
with  a  heavy  steel  ruler. 

"No.    Not  a  word." 

"It's — it's  rather  queer,  don't  you  think?" 

"You  are  nervous,  Zimmerlein,"  said  Thor 
sensel,  after  a  moment  in  which  he  studied  the 
other  with  a  keen  and  soul-searching  eye.  "It 
won't  do,  my  friend.  Nervousness  tends  to  irri- 


104  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

tation,  and  irritation  leads  to  impatience.  You 
know  what  happens  to  the  impatient,  Zimmer- 
lein." 

"Damn  it  all,  I  am  nervous.  I  admit  it. 
Don't  lecture  me.  I'm  not  going  to  lose  my 
grit, — or  my  head  either." 

"You  can't  lose  one  without  the  other,  you 
know,"  remarked  Thorsensel  sententiously. 

"What  do  you  suppose  has  happened?" 

"Nothing, — nothing  at  all,"  said  the  other. 

"You  mean  that — that  they  didn't  pull  it  off? 
God,  that  is  the  very  worst  that  could  have  hap 
pened." 

' '  That  is  exactly  what  I  mean.  You  need  not 
worry,  however.  Trust  Scarf  to  play  it  safe. 
If  he  saw  that  there  was  the  slightest  chance  of 
failure,  he  would  have  taken  no  risk.  That's 
Scarf,  my  friend.  Calm  yourself.  We  will 
hear  from  him  before  noon.  He  will  have 
worked  out  another  plan,  you  may  be  sure." 

It  may  be  mentioned  here  and  now  that  Zim- 
merlein  had  consulted  Thorsensel — the  master 
mind, — before  taking  a  step  in  the  affair  of  the 
night  just  past.  He  had  gone  directly  from  his 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  105 

hotel  to  the  little  French  cafe  down  the  street. 
He  knew  that  it  was  the  unvarying  habit  of  the 
strange,  silent  engineer  to  drop  in  at  this  quaint 
place  for  a  bite  of  something  to  eat  and  a  bottle 
of  red  wine  at  midnight.  Thorsensel  never 
missed  doing  this.  There  was  method  in  his 
continence. 

A  big  and  vital  problem  confronted  Zimmer- 
lein.  He  did  not  dare  act  without  consulting 
his  pseudo-subordinate.  Thorsensel  took  the 
matter  out  of  his  hands.  It  was  he  who  laid 
the  plans.  Zimmerlein  became  merely  an  in 
strument,  with  certain  functions  to  perform, 
and  nothing  more. 

"I  hope  you  are  right,"  said  Zimmerlein, 
absorbing  some  of  the  other's  fatalistic  assur 
ance.  ' '  God  help  us  if  you  are  wrong. " 

"My  dear  man,  God  helps  us  because  we  are 
right,  not  because  we  are  wrong,"  said  Thor 
sensel,  laying  his  big,  clenched  fist  upon  the 
desk, — not  violently  but  with  a  gentleness  that 
suggested  vast  strength  held  under  control  by 
the  power  of  a  vaster  will. 

Zimmerlein  drew  a  long,  deep  breath. 


106  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

"You've  heard  about  the  Elston,  I  suppose? " 
"Yes.  They  got  her.  I  knew  they  would. 
That  was  the  greatest  tip  we  've  ever  had.  Our 
report  is  that  not  one  of  the  big  bugs  on  board 
was  saved.  A  number  of  the  crew  got  off  in 
boats,  but  they  had  to  hurry.  She  went  down 
in  eight  minutes.  They  made  a  good  job  of  it, 
bless  'em.  No  wonder  the  night  wind  weeps! 
Now,  we'll  see  what  old  England  has  to  say  for 
the  invincibility  of  her  fleet,  and  what  she'll  say 
to  the  United  States  for  letting  the  cat  out  of 
the  bag. ' '  He  laughed  aloud, — for  the  first  time 
in  the  memory  of  Zimmerlein.  Several  of  the 
men  in  the  drafting-room  looked  up.  They 
stared  unblinkingly  at  the  laugher. 

The  forenoon  wore  away.  Thorsensel  shut 
tled  between  the  drafting-room  and  the  private 
office.  He  no  longer  laughed.  The  pleased, 
confident  look  had  left  his  eyes;  in  its  stead 
lurked  something  that  finally  developed  into 
real,  undisguised  anxiety.  An  atmosphere  of 
restraint  settled  down  like  a  cloud  over  the 
offices.  The  uneasiness  of  the  two  principal  fig 
ures  in  the  place  was  acutely  infectious. 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  107 

The  report  of  Peter  Hooge,  the  steward  of 
the  Black  Downs  Country  Club,  who  arrived 
shortly  after  noon,  neither  increased  nor  les 
sened  the  strain.  He  was  unnecessarily 
alarmed.  What  if  secret  service  men  did  visit 
the  club-house  and  question  the  employes? 
That  was  not  an  unusual  proceeding.  They 
were  doing  something  of  the  sort  all  the  time. 
But,  said  Peter,  they  obtained  a  list  of  all  the 
members  and  guests  of  the  club  present  on  the 
premises  at  the  time  of  the  Reynolds  explosion. 
Naturally,  said  both  Zimmerlein  and  Thorsen- 
sel :  That  was  just  what  they  would  do.  Pre 
cious  little  good  it  would  do  them,  however. 

"I  was  obliged  to  show  them  my  passports 
and  papers  from  the  Swiss  Government,"  said 
Peter. 

"Well,  they  were  all  in  order,  weren't  they?" 

*  '  Perfectly.  That  isn  't  the  point.  The  mere 
fact  that  they  asked  for  them  proves  something, 
doesn't  it?" 

"You  are  too  old  a  bird  to  be  frightened  by 
pop-guns,  Hooge,"  said  Thorsensel,  gnawing  at 
his  moustache.  "These  fellows,  from  what  I 


108  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

know  of  them,  couldn't  catch  the  scent  of  a  pole 
cat.  " 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  put  in  Zimmerlein. 
" They've  landed  some  pretty  big  fish." 

" They've  landed  a  pack  of  blatant  asses," 
snapped  Thorsensel.  "Good  God,  man,  you 
don't  put  Reistelen  and  others  of  his  stripe  in 
the  class  with — well,  with  a  few  I  could  mention, 
do  you?  They've  only  touched  the  surface,  my 
friend.  It  is  very  deep, — very  deep  indeed — 
where  the  big  fishes  lie.  Go  back  to  your  work, 
Hooge, — and  don 't  worry  us  again  with  trifles. ' ' 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Scarf  came  in.  He 
came  as  a  stoop-shouldered,  consumptive-look 
ing,  unwashed  District  Messenger  of  uncertain 
age  and  stability. 

"Well?"  cried  Zimmerlein,  glaring  at  the 
man. 

"Where  in  hell  have  you  been?"  grated  Thor 
sensel. 

"That's  just  where  I  have  been,"  replied  the 
messenger,  straightening  his  bent  figure  and 
drawing  a  long,  full  breath.  He  passed  his 
hand  across  his  brow.  "Or  rather,  I've  been 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  109 

close  enough  to  get  an  unpleasant  whiff  of 
It" 

" Don't  sit  down!"  exclaimed  Zimmerlein, 
as  the  man  prepared  to  sink  into  a  chair. 

* '  I  'm  all  in,  I  've  got  to, ' '  and  down  he  flopped. 
After  a  moment  he  leaned  forward  and  fixed  the 
others  with  burning,  bitter  eyes.  "In  the  first 
place,  do  you  know  what's  happened  to  El- 
beron?" 

"No,"  fell  in  unison  from  the  lips  of  the  two 
men. 

"Well,  he's  sitting  up  in  the  United  States 
Attorney's  office  with  half  a  dozen  experts  try 
ing  to  pump  intelligence  out  of  him." 

An  imprecation  ground  its  way  out  between 
Thorsensel's  teeth.  Zimmerlein 's  lower  lip 
tightened  against  his  teeth. 

"I  had  it  from  Zumpe.  They  went  to  Elber- 
\  on's  house  early  this  morning, — on  the  quiet,  of 
course, — nothing  for  the  public, — and  took  him 
down  for  a  grilling.  Zumpe  says  old  Elberon 
has  been  getting  pretty  gabby  with  one  or  two 
people  who  ought  to  be  good  Germans  but 
ain't." 


110  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

"The  infernal  fool!  I  have  warned  him  re 
peatedly,  "  snarled  Thorsensel.  "He  has  been 
very  thick  lately  with  Kleinhans,  the  banker.  I 
told  him  to  take  no  chances  with  that  man.  I 
mentioned  a  few  others  too." 

"Some  of  'em  are  straight,  eh?"  queried 
Scarf,  a  twist  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth  that 
went  for  a  sneer. 

"Straight?  No!  Crooked  as  rattlesnakes! 
I  wouldn't  trust  a  man  like  Kleinhans  out  of 
my  sight.  He  actually  thinks  he's  an  Ameri 
can, — and  God  knows  that  makes  him  worse 
than  one.  Well?  Go  on.  What  else?" 

"That's  all  I  know  about  Elberon.  As  for 
that  other  little  matter, — "  He  stopped  to  wet 
his  lips. 

Zimmerlein  muttered  hoarsely :  * '  Little  mat 
ter!" 

"I'm  lucky,  that's  all,"  said  Scarf,  and  again 
passed  his  hand  over  his  brow. 

"Get  on  with  it.  You  can't  stay  here  all 
afternoon,"  commanded  Thorsensel. 

"We  came  within  an  ace  of  dropping  into  a 
pit — a  bottomless  pit  at  that.  Why  didn't  you 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  111 

tell  me  that  secret  service  men  were  trailing 
him,  Zimmerlein?" 

' '  What  ?    What 's  that  you  say  1 " 

"  Why,  damn  yonr  eyes,  Zimmerlein,  that  guy 
was  suspected  of  giving  information  to  the 
enemy.  He's  been  watched  like  a  hawk.  We 
got  onto  it  just  in  time.  Don't  you  see  what 
would  have  happened  if  they  had  followed  us  to 
his  room?  You  don't,  eh?  Well,  I'll  tell  you. 
We  would  have  been  nabbed  with  him, — before 
anything  could  have  happened, — caught  in  the 
very  net  they  were  laying  for  him.  His  pals  — 
that's  what  they  would  have  made  of  us, — his 
comrades,  mind  you,  not  his  enemies.  How  the 
devil  could  we  have  explained?  And  would 
they  have  believed  him,  no  matter  what  he  said 
about  us?  Not  on  your  life.  The  very  thing 
they  were  watching  for  would  have  hampered. 
A  rendezvous  I  They  would  have  had  him  dead 
to  rights, — delivering  information  received 
earlier  in  the  night  to  two  German  agents, — oh, 
what  a  diabolical  joke  it  would  have  been  on 
him,  and  what  a  devil  of  a  mess  we  would  have 
been  in !  God,  I  shiver  every  time  I  think  of  it, 


112  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

— and  I've  been  shivering  all  day,  let  me  tell 
you." 

" Secret  service  men  after  him?"  muttered 
Thorsensel,  incredulously.  "What's  the  angle, 
Zimmerlein, — what's  the  angle?  You  are  sup 
posed  to  be  on  the  inside  up  there.  What  do 
you  know  about  this?" 

"I  am  completely  in  the  dark.  I  can't  under 
stand  it,  Thorsensel.  It — are  you  sure,  Scarf  ? ' ' 

"  Absolutely.  They  got  Blechter, — yanked 
him  off  the  taxi  when  he  stopped  around  in  the 
next  block,  according  to  plans.  He  was  to  wait 
for  us  there, — fixing  his  engine  as  a  blind, — 
stalling  for  time.  He  put  up  a  fight, — poor 
fool.  They  got  him  just  the  same." 

"Will  he  squeal?"  demanded  Zimmerlein, 
pacing  the  floor. 

"You  ought  to  know.  He's  your  protege," 
said  Scarf  succinctly. 

"Better  dead  than  alive,  I'd  say,"  said  Thor 
sensel  unfeelingly.  "  Go  on. " 

"Well,  from  all  I  could  learn,  two  of  them 
waited  outside  the  building  and  two  of  'em  were 
inside — I  don't  know  just  where.  I  think  one 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  113 

of  them  was  running  the  front  elevator.  All 
I  know  is  that  Buddy  and  I  barely  had  time  to 
get  out  of  the  window  and  onto  a  little  balcony 
and  drop  down  to  the  one  below,  before  they 
smashed  in  the  door.  Twelve  foot  drop,  too, — 
and  the  balcony  wasn't  more  than  three  feet 
wide.  If  we  'd  missed — Lord ! ' ' 

"You  were  in  his  room?"  cried  Thorsensel. 

' '  Sure.  We  got  in  through  the  building  next 
door,  sneaked  up  ten  flights  of  stairs  to  the  top. 
Got  out  on  the  roof  through  the  *  dog-house,'  and 
dropped  down  to  the  other  roof.  Sort  of  pent 
house  arrangement  up  there.  Very  simple 
after  that.  We  had  his  apartment  pretty  well 
marked.  Ninth  floor  front.  It's  closed  except 
when  he  comes  up  occasionally  from  camp  for  a 
night  or  two.  Family  in  the  South  somewhere, 
servants  dismissed.  We  didn't  waste  any  time. 
Had  it  all  doped  out.  Went  to  his  door  and 
rang  the  bell.  Pretty  soon  he  came  and  opened 
it  and  asked  what  we  wanted.  We  told  him 
right  off  the  reel  that  we  were  in  the  secret 
service  and  had  to  have  a  talk  with  him  at  once 
about  a  certain  party  he  knows.  He  told  us  to 


114  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

go  to  hell.  Then  I  showed  him  my  badge  and 
mentioned  a  name  that  bowled  him  over.  He 
said:  'My  God!'  and  drew  back  into  the  room. 
We  went  in  and  closed  the  door. 

"I  asked  him  first  if  there  was  anybody  in 
the  apartment — anybody  that  would  be  likely 
to  hear  our  conversation.  He  said  he  was  alone, 
— his  people  were  out  of  town  for  the  winter. 
Buddy  asked  him  point  blank  just  what  he  knew 
about  a  certain  party, — all  of  it.  He  came  back 
with  a  question.  'Has  there  been  an  arrest?7 
'Yes,'  says  I.  He  sat  down,  limp  as  a  rag. 
'My  God,  it's  terrible — horrible,'  he  says. 
'Who  put  you  wise?  How  much  is  actually 
known?'  That  was  enough  for  Buddy.  He 
stuck  the  gun  under  his  ear  and  let  him  have 
it.  He  never  knew  what  hit  him.  Buddy 
dropped  the  revolver  on  the  floor  beside  the 
chair, — just  where  he  would  have  dropped  it 
himself, — and  then  we  started  out  to  see  if  we 
could  find  anything  in  the  apartment  that 
oughtn't  to  be  lying  around  loose.  I  forgot  to 
say  there  was  a  Maxim  silencer  on  the  gun.  We 
had  just  entered  the  first  bed-room  when  his 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  115 

door  bell  rang.  Two  hearts  stopped  beating 
right  there  and  then.  For  a  minute  we  were 
paralysed.  Then  there  was  pounding  on  the 
door,  and  we  heard  some  one  say,  '  Open  up,  or 
well  smash  it  in!' 

"No  use  wasting  time  on  minor  details. 
After  we  got  onto  the  balcony  below,  we  opened 
the  French  windows  and  sneaked  into  a  big 
apartment, — darker  than  Egypt  except  when 
the  light  from  a  big  electric  sign  down  the 
street  flashed  every  few  seconds.  We  got  out 
into  the  hall  without  rousing  anybody  and 
started  down  the  stairs.  Of  course,  we  thought 
it  was  the  elevator  man  pounding  on  the  door 
up  there, — he  might  have  heard  the  muffled  re 
port  if  he  happened  to  be  near  that  floor.  God 
was  with  us.  We  got  down  to  the  ground  floor 
all  right,  but  there  we  struck  something  worse 
than  a  stone  wall.  Two  men  were  standing 
right  in  front  of  the  passenger  elevator.  We 
jumped  behind  a  curtain  they  have  hanging 
there  to  hide  the  stairway.  They  didn't  hear 
us.  They  were  talking  about  Blechter.  We 
knew  in  a  second  what  they  were. 


116  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

"  There  was  a  cubby  hole  under  the  stairs 
where  they  keep  mops  and  brooms  and  such 
stuff.  We  got  in  there,  leaving  a  crack  through 
which  we  could  hear.  After  awhile  the  front 
elevator  came  down.  We  heard  'em  all  talking. 
They  said  he  had  shot  himself,  and  they  cursed 
their  luck  because  they  hadn't  been  able  to  take 
him  alive.  He  must  have  been  warned  that  they 
were  after  him.  That's  what  they  were  roar 
ing  about.  After  a  while  we  got  out  of  the 
mop-hole  and  sneaked  down  to  the  basement. 
The  doors  were  locked,  and  there  were  men  in 
the  engine  room— a  night  fireman  and  a  friend 
of  his  who  was  drunk  and  had  come  in  to  sleep 
it  off.  Somebody  was  walking  up  and  down  in 
the  little  court  outside.  We  didn't  dare  risk  a 
dash  for  it,  so  we  hid  under  a  pile  of  last  sum 
mer 's  awnings  for  a  couple  of  hours.  When  we 
couldn't  stand  it  any  longer,  we  decided  to  put 
on  a  bold  front  and  pass  ourselves  off  as  plain- 
clothes-men.  It  was  dead  easy.  The  employes 
about  the  place  were  scared  stiff.  All  we  had 
to  do  was  to  look  hard  at  the  head  porter  and 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  117 

the  back  elevator  man,  and  tell  'em  not  to  let 
anybody  go  near  the  storeroom  for  apartment 
E  9, — not  on  their  lives.  Here's  the  evening 
paper.  You  can  read  what  it  says. ' ' 


CHAPTER  VI  " 

LOUISE  HANSBURY  did  not  go  out  for 
her  customary  "  constitutional "  that 
morning.  She  arose,  tired  and  depressed  after 
a  sleepless  night.  Soon  after  she  had  her 
breakfast, — chocolate  and  toast  and  a  pre 
scribed  porridge, — she  complained  of  a  sudden 
and  violent  nausea. 

Mrs.  Carstairs  went  in  to  see  her,  and  was 
alarmed.  She  took  the  girl's  temperature  and 
then  called  up  the  doctor. 

"You  have  a  fever,"  she  said.  "You  must 
go  back  to  bed.  It's  nothing,  I  daresay,  but 
we  have  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  dear." 

Louise  betrayed  her  agitation.  She  pleaded 
to  be  allowed  to  dress  and  go  out  for  her  walk. 
There  were  moments  when  actual  fear  lurked  in 
her  dark  eyes. 

"I  will  be  all  right  in  a  little  while,  Aunt 
Frieda.  Don't  be  cross  with  me.  I  must  have 

118 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  119 

eaten  something  last  night  that  disagreed  with 
me.  The  lobster, — I  ate  a  tiny  bit  of  it." 

"Very  likely,"  said  her  aunt  calmly.  "All 
the  more  reason  for  being  careful  today.  No, 
my  dear,  I  must  insist  on  your  remaining  in  bed, 
— at  least  until  Dr.  Browne  has  seen  you." 

"When  is  he  coming?" 

"The  attendant  said  she  could  locate  him  and 
would  send  him  here  as  soon  as  possible.  He  is 
out  making  his  calls. ' ' 

"The  chocolate  tasted  queerly  this  morning, 
Aunt  Frieda,"  said  the  girl,  feverishly. 

"Imagination.  Nothing  tastes  right  when 
one's  stomach  is  upset." 

"Oh,  I  want  so  much  to  get  out  for  a  breath 
of  fresh  air.  It  is  a  perfectly  lovely  day.  I  am 
sure  Dr.  Browne  will  say  it's  the  best  thing  in 
the  world — " 

"Dr.  Browne  doesn't  know  everything,"  in 
terrupted  Mrs.  Carstairs.  She  laid  her  hand 
on  the  girl's  hot  forehead.  "You  must  go  back 
to  bed, — just  for  a  little  while,"  she  said,  and 
there  was  an  inexorableness  in  her  tone  that 
roused  swift  resentment  in  Louise.  A  rebelli- 


120  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

ous,  angry  light  smouldered  in  her  eyes.  "I 
know  what  is  best  for  you.  If  it  should  turn 
out  to  be  ptomaine  poisoning — " 

"It  can't  be  ptomaine  if  it  came  from  the 
chocolate  I  drank,"  sad  Louise,  excitement 
causing  her  voice  to  tremble  and  to  take  on  a 
certain  shrillness. 

"I  am  confident  it  is  all  due  to  nervousness/' 
said  Mrs.  Carstairs.  She  spoke  in  a  patient, 
consoling  manner.  "Dr.  Browne  will  give  you 
something  to  straighten  out  your  digestion,  and 
you  will  be  all  right  by  tomorrow.  You  are 
not  strong  yet,  you  know.  Just  be  patient,  my 
dear.  It  takes  time." 

"I  should  like  to  telephone,  Aunt  Frieda," 
said  the  girl  abruptly.  Submissive  to  the 
gentle  but  unyielding  authority  of  the  older 
woman,  who  dominated  as  one  with  the  power  to 
scourge  if  resistance  continued,  she  had  begun 
to  divest  herself,  rather  helplessly,  of  the  gay 
peignoir  in  which  she  had  breakfasted.  With 
feverish  haste,  she  slipped  her  arms  through  the 
loose  folds,  and  faced  her  aunt.  There  was  de 
fiance  in  her  glance.  For  an  instant  it  held. 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  121 

The  calm  smile  and  the  tolerant  shake  of  the 
head,  as  to  a  pleading  child,  shattered  her  re 
solve  ;  she  saw  that  argument  was  useless.  The 
robe  fell  from  her  shoulders  as  she  turned  away 
with  a  sob  in  her  throat. 

"Is  it  important?"  inquired  the  older 
woman. 

"I — this  afternoon  will  do  as  well,  I  sup 
pose,"  replied  the  girl,  without  turning  her 
head. 

"Let  me  call  up  for  you,  dear.  It  is  no 
trouble  at  all.  I  can  explain  that  you  are  ill." 

"No,  thank  you,  Aunt  Frieda.  It — it  doesn't 
matter." 

She  hesitated  about  confiding  to  Mrs.  Car- 
stairs  that  she  was  going  out  to  meet  her  lover. 
Something  told  her  that  it  would  be  the  wrong 
thing  to  do, — something  that  for  want  of  an 
other  name  would  have  to  go  as  cunning. 
She  shared  a  vague,  disturbing  secret  with 
Steele.  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Carstairs  tucked  the  bedclothes  about 
her. 

"The  doctor  will  be  here  soon,  I  am  sure," 


122  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

she  said.  "Bo  you  feel  any  better?  Are  you 
more  comfortable  V ' 

"I  am  in  no  pain, — if  that's  what  you  mean. 
Just  this  wretched  nausea.  What  do  the  morn 
ing  papers  say  about  the  loss  of  the  Elston, 
Aunt  Frieda  1" 

"Nothing,  I  believe.  Your  uncle  says  there 
was  no  mention  of  it.  I  daresay  the  news  has 
been  held  up  for  the  time  being.  Waiting  for 
full  details.  Wasn't  it  fortunate, — wasn't  it 
providential  that  the  transfer  to  the  Campion 
was  so  cleverly  accomplished?" 

A  maid-servant  came  to  the  door. 

"You  are  wanted  on  the  telephone,  Mrs.  Car- 
stairs.  Shall  I  say  you  are  engaged?" 

"Who  is  it,  Wrenn?" 

"A  gentleman.  I  couldn't  catch  the  name, 
Mrs.  Car  stairs." 

"I  will  see  who  it  is." 

After  she  had  closed  Louise's  door  behind 
her,  Frieda  Carstairs  stood  stockstill  in  the  long 
corridor.  She  put  her  hand  to  her  breast  and 
held  it  there  lightly,  as  if  to  transmit  its  vital 
strength  to  the  organ  which  pounded  so  vio- 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  123 

lently.  Her  tall  figure  was  tense ;  her  face  took 
on  the  pallor  of  death  and  its  rigidity.  For  as 
long  as  fifteen  or  twenty  seconds,  she  remained 
motionless.  Then  her  lips  moved  stiffly;  they 
twitched  as  in  a  spasm  of  pain.  The  two  words 
they  formed  but  did  not  utter  were : 

"Poor  girl!" 

Once,  as  she  covered  the  short  distance  to  her 
own  sitting-room,  her  figure  swayed  slightly. 
She  even  put  out  a  hand  to  steady  herself 
against  the  wall, — a  needless  precaution,  for 
she  instantly  regained  command  of  herself. 

She  closed  the  door,  and,  before  taking  up  the 
receiver,  threw  in  the  device  which  cut  out  the 
instrument  from  other  extensions  in  the  apart 
ment, — those  in  the  butler's  pantry,  her  hus 
band's  study,  and  the  one  that  stood  on  the 
night-table  at  the  head  of  his  bed.  Her  knees 
suddenly  became  weak;  they  trembled  as  with 
the  palsy.  She  sat  down  at  the  writing  table 
and  dropped  her  elbow  heavily  on  the  top. 
Again  she  feared  that  she  was  going  to  faint. 

"Yes?"  she  murmured  thickly  into  the  trans 
mitter,  and,  instantly  realizing  that  her  voice 


124  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

betrayed  nervousness  and  even  alarm,  repeated 
the  word  firmly,  crisply.  "Yes, — this  is  Mrs. 
Carstairs." 

"I  am  speaking  for  the  Evening — "  (the 
name  of  the  newspaper  was  indistinctly  pro 
nounced) — "and  I  called  up,  Mrs.  Carstairs,  to 
ask  if  it  is  true  that  Captain  Derrol  Steele  was 
engaged  to  be  married  to  your  niece,  Miss 
Louise  Hansbury?" 

She  did  not  reply.  Her  lips  parted  but  no 
sound  issued  forth. 

Again  the  voice  spoke  in  her  ear.  "Are  you 
there?" 

The  "yes"  she  uttered  in  reply  was  little 
more  than  a  hoarse  gasp.  And  then:  "I  hear 
you  quite  distinctly. ' '  There  was  a  click  at  the 
other  end.  Slowly,  as  in  a  daze,  she  hung  up 
the  receiver.  Not  another  word  passed. 

She  did  not  leave  the  apartment  that  day,  but 
spent  most  of  the  time  with  her  niece,  whose 
indisposition  was  promptly  diagnosed  as  an 
acute  attack  of  indigestion  by  the  learned  and 
complacent  physician,  who  dosed  her  and  went 
his  way.  He  ordered  her  to  remain  in  bed ;  he 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  125 

would  run  in  and  see  her  in  the  morning.  If 
anything,  ah ! — a — alarming  turned  up,  he  mur 
mured  to  Mrs.  Carstairs,  she  was  to  call  him  at 
once.  Not  likely,  of  course,  said  he,  nothing  to 
be  apprehensive  about,  but — well,  you  never  can 
tell.  Resistance  not  yet  fully  restored, — and, 
4  *  after  all,  as  I  Ve  said  all  along,  Mrs.  Carstairs, 
one's  own  resistance  is  the  best  chemistry  go 
ing,  and  one  has  to  fill  his  own  prescription 
when  it  comes  to  that  sort  of  thing,  don't  you 
know. ' ' 

Being  a  very  fashionable  doctor  he  gave  her 
pyromedan  to  bring  down  the  temperature  in  a 
hurry,  and  codeine  to  quiet  the  pain. 

Davenport  Carstairs  seldom  reached  his  home 
before  six  or  half -past.  It  was  his  custom, — if 
business  happened  to  be  indulgent, — to  drop  in 
at  his  favourite  club  about  four  in  the  after 
noon.  On  this  afternoon,  however,  he  drove 
straight  home  from  the  office.  The  clock  in  the 
hall  was  striking  four  as  he  entered  the  apart 
ment.  The  afternoon  newspapers  were  under 
his  arm, — four  or  five  of  them. 


126  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

"Has  Mrs.  Carstairs  come  in,  Hollowell?"  lie 
asked. 

"Mrs.  Carstairs  did  not  go  out  today,  sir. 
Miss  Hansbury  is  ill." 

Ordinarily  Carstairs  would  have  been  dis 
turbed  by  this  information.  He  had  been 
gravely  worried  over  his  niece's  condition. 
Hollowell's  supplementary  statement,  however, 
appeared  to  have  fallen  on  deaf  ears. 

"Say  that  I'm  home,  Hollowell,  and  in  my 
room." 

"Very  good,  sir.  Is  there  anything  I  can 
do,  sir?" 

"  Do  ?    What  do  you  mean  t ' ' 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  might  be  ill,  sir. 
I—" 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  somewhat  irascibly. 
"Ask  Mrs.  Carstairs  to  come  to  my  room- 
Wait!  Have  you  had  any  news  here  to 
day?" 

' l  No,  sir, — nothink  as  I  am  aware  of,  sir. ' ' 

* '  No — er — commotion  ? ' ' 

"I  think  not,  sir.  It  isn't  serious.  Sort  of 
—ah — what  you  might  call  stomach — ah — al- 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  127 

though  cook  says  it  can't  have  been  anything 
she  ate  last — " 

"By  the  way,  what  made  you  think  I  was 
ill!" 

"Well, — since  you  ask,  sir, — you  do  look  a  bit 
seedy,  sir, — that  is  to  say  pale  and— 

"I  wish  to  see  Mrs.  Carstairs  alone.  Please 
avoid  mentioning  my  return  in  Miss  Hansbury  's 
presence." 

He  went  at  once  to  his  study,  where,  moved 
by  the  remark  of  the  butler,  he  stared  long  and 
hard  at  his  features  in  a  mirror.  His  face  was 
ashen  grey,  and  suddenly,  strangely  old. 

He  had  tossed  the  newspapers  on  the  rare  old 
Italian  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  After  a 
few  moments  of  complete  abstraction,  his  dull, 
frowning  gaze  was  raised  from  the  floor  to 
sweep  the  room, — which,  for  some  strange,  al 
most  uncanny  cause,  seemed  almost  unfamiliar 
to  him.  And  yet  it  was  the  same, — nothing  had 
been  changed.  Only  he  had  altered — his  own 
perspective  had  undergone  a  vast,  incompre 
hensible  change.  His  eyes  falling  upon  the  pa 
pers,  he  took  them  up,  one  by  one,  and  stared 


128  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

again  at  a  certain  headline  in  each, — a  raw  cap 
tion  that  fascinated  him  and  hurt  him  like  the 
cut  of  a  knife. 

It  did  not  occur  to  him  until  long  afterwards, 
and  then  only  in  retrospective  contemplation  of 
events  that  filled  the  most  important  day  in  his 
life,  that  his  wife  was  a  long  time  in  appearing. 
She  came  into  the  study  at  last,  and,  as  was  her 
unvarying  custom,  pressed  her  lips  to  his  cheek. 
He  noticed  that  her  lips,  always  moist  and  soft 
and  alive,  were  hot  and  dry  and  as  dead  as 
parchment.  Before  he  spoke  a  word  to  her,  he 
crossed  the  room  and  closed  the  door  into  the 
hall. 

She  was  staring  at  him  in  amazement  as  he 
turned  toward  her  again. 

' ' What  has  happened,  Davenport?  You — 
you  look  so  strange, — so —  Oh,  something 
dreadful  has  happened!  Is  it — is  it  Alfred? 
Tell  me !  For  God 's  sake,  don 't— ' ' 

"It  isn't  Alfred,  my  dear,"  said  he.  There 
was  a  dull,  hollow  note  in  his  voice, — a  note  that 
held  to  one  key.  " Where  is  Louise?" 

"In  bed.    She  hasn't  been  well—" 


SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON  129 

"We  must  manage  somehow  to  break  this 
thing  gently  to  her.  It  might — there  is  no  tell 
ing  what  it  may  do  to  her,  Frieda. ' ' 

She  steadied  herself  against  the  table.  Her 
face  now  was  as  white  as  his.  It  had  been  pale 
before ;  now  it  was  livid. 

"What  is  it,  Davenport!" 

He  looked  searchingly,  anxiously  into  her 
eyes  for  a  moment,  and  then  said:  "It  will  be 
a  shock  to  you  too,  Frieda, — but  I  know  you. 
You  can  take  it  like  a  soldier.  Derrol  Steele 
shot  himself  last  night.  He  is  dead.  He — 
There,  there,  dearest !  I  shouldn't  have  blurted 
it  out  like — sit  down  here,  Frieda!  That's 
right !  Poor  old  girl !  Curse  me  for  a  blunder 
ing  fool!  I  might  have  known  it  would  be  a 
dreadful  shock  to  you.  You  were  devoted  to 
him.  He—" 

"Tell  me, — tell  me  everything,  Davenport," 
she  broke  in,  her  eyes  fixed  on  his  lips.  She  did 
not  look  into  his  eyes.  He  was  leaning  over 
her,  clasping  one  of  her  hands, — a  hand  that 
suddenly  became  limp  after  the  utmost  rigidity. 

"Just  a  moment.    Compose  yourself.    Pull 


130  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

yourself  together,  dear.  It's — it's  a  cruel 
story — an  incredible  story.  I  would  have 
staked  my  soul  on  Derrol  Steele.  I've  known 
him  since  he  was  a  little  boy.  If  I  had  been 
asked  to  name  the  most  honourable,  the  most 
loyal  man  in  the — but,  Frieda,  I  was  wrong — I 
was  deceived  in  him, — just  as  you  were — and 
Louise.  Louise !  God,  how  this  will  crush  that 
poor,  innocent,  loving — " 

1 '  Tell  me ! ' '  she  insisted,  her  fingers  tighten 
ing  on  his,  her  voice  scarcely  more  than  a 
whisper. 

For  answer,  he  placed  the  newspaper  in  her 
hands,  and  pointed  to  the  headline  at  the  top  of 
the  page. 

"Read  it,  Frieda.    Read  this  first. " 

He  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  his  arms 
folded  across  his  breast,  and  waited  for  her  to 
finish.  At  last  the  paper  fell  from  her  fingers 
and  she  looked  up  into  his  face.  Her  eyes  were 
bleak. 

"I  can't  believe  it,  Davenport, — I  will  not 
believe  it  of  Derrol  Steele." 

"As  soon  as  I  saw  the  paper, — about  two 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  131 

o'clock,  I  should  say, — I  hurried  over  to  the 
United  States  Attorney's  office.  The  story  is 
true,  Frieda.  It  appears  that  a  secret  service 
agent — 'gad,  how  marvellous  they  are! — an 
agent  overheard  scraps  of  a  conversation  be 
tween  two  men  late  last  night, — in  front  of  a 
little  French  restaurant,  I  think  it  was. 
Steele's  name  was  mentioned  two  or  three 
times.  He  was  not  interested,  however,  until 
he  heard  them  speak  of  a  man  long  suspected  by 
the  department.  Then  he  pricked  up  his  ears. 
The  marshal  did  not  repeat  the  name,  for  ob 
vious  reasons.  The  man  heard  enough  to  con 
vince  him  that  this  suspect  and  one  or  two  other 
men  were  to  be  at  Steele's  apartment  before 
three  o'clock  this  morning.  The  address  was 
carefully,  precisely  given  by  one  of  the  men, 
who  was  very  greatly  agitated.  Captain  Steele 
had  vital  information  in  his  possession, — that 
much,  at  least,  the  listener  was  able  to  grasp. 
One  sentence  he  heard  distinctly.  I  recall  it 
clearly.  *  Tomorrow  will  be  too  late.'  This 
was  enough  for  the  agent.  He  was  too  clever 
to  arrest  these  men  on  the  spot.  The  way  was 


132  SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON 

clear  for  the  seizure  of  at  least  four  or  five  men, 
including  an  officer  in  the  United  States  Army. 
So  he — are  you  listening,  dear  ? ' 9 

"Yes,  yes!"  she  replied,  as  if  waking  from  a 
dream. 

"This  agent  had  been  set  there  to  watch  for 
a  man  and  a  woman,  posing  as  French  people, 
who  are  under  surveillance.  As  soon  as  the 
speakers  parted,  he  rushed  up  the  street  to  an 
hotel,  and  called  up  headquarters.  This  was 
too  big  a  thing  to  be  sidetracked  for  the  French 
couple.  Several  operatives  were  dispatched 
immediately  to  assist  him.  They  went  to  the 
building  where  Derrol  lives — or  lived.  They 
seized  the  driver  of  the  taxi-cab,  but  the  others 
evidently  got  wind  of  the  raid,  for  when  they 
went  up  to  Steele's  apartment,  hoping  to  catch 
them  in  the  place  with  him,  they  found  him 
alone.  He  had  slipped  a  bath  gown  over  his 
pajamas  and  was  undoubtedly  waiting  for  his 
fellow-conspirators.  He  realized  in  an  instant 
that  he  was  trapped.  They  smashed  in  the 
door.  While  the  violent  noise  was  going  on,  he 
shot  himself.  They  did  not  hear  the  report, 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  133 

however,  due  to  the  clatter  and  to  the  fact  that 
there  was  a  silencer  on  the  revolver.  There 
was  the  faintest  sign  of  a  pube,  indicating  that 
the  shot  had  been  fired  only  a  minute  or  two  be 
fore  they  burst  in  and  discovered  him  sitting 
in  a  chair  not  twenty  feet  from  the  door/' 

The  tears  rolled  down  the  cheeks  of  Daven 
port  Carstairs.  His  voice  broke. 

"I  can't  believe  it  of  him,  Frieda, — I  can't  be 
lieve  it." 

Her  face  was  ghastly.  "We  have  the  proof, 
Davenport, — the  indisputable  proof, "  she  mur 
mured. 

' '  The  proof  I    What  proof  have  we?" 

"The  best  proof  in  the  world.  He  shot  him 
self.  Only  a  guilty  man  would  have  taken  his 
own  life  in  the  circumstances.  We — we  must 
believe  it  of  him,  Davenport.  That  poor,  sick 
girl !  How  are  we  to  tell  her  1 ' ' 

Of  the  two,  she  was  now  by  far  the  more  com 
posed.  Except  for  the  colourless  lips  and  an 
almost  lavender-like  hue  that  stole  slowly  into 
her  cheeks  just  below  the  temples,  indicative  of 
the  vast  effort  she  had  been  called  upon  to  exert 


134  SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON 

in  order  to  regain  command  of  her  nerves,  she 
was  visibly  calm  and  self-contained.  Her  hus 
band  had  sunk  dejectedly  into  a  chair.  For 
many  minutes  no  word  passed  between  them. 
It  was  she  who  spoke  first. 

"  You  say  they  caught  one  of  the  men — one  of 
the  others,  I  mean?"  she  inquired. 

"The  taxi-driver. " 

Her  lips  parted  to  form  another  question. 
She  withheld  it.  With  her  handkerchief  she 
wiped  away  the  moisture  that  suddenly  ap 
peared  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth — oozing 
from  between  close-pressed  lips. 

She  read  the  accounts  in  the  other  papers,  her 
face  absolutely  emotionless.  After  a  while  he 
looked  up,  and,  unobserved,  watched  her  face. 

"You  are  a  very  wonderful  woman,  Frieda," 
he  said  as  she  laid  the  last  of  the  papers  on  the 
table.  Her  answer  was  a  faint  smile  and  a 
shake  of  the  head. 

She  arose  and  started  resolutely  toward  the 
door.  As  she  neared  it,  she  faltered,  and  then 
turned  back  to  him. 

"Davenport,  I  have  just  had  a  most  disturb- 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  135 

ing  thought.  It  also  may  have  occurred  to  you. 
Derrol  Steele  was  a  trusted  and  familiar  guest 
in  this  house.  He  heard  many  important, — let 
me  go  on,  please, — I  can  see  revulsion  in  your 
eyes.  Whether  we  like  it  or  not,  we  must  look 
at  it  squarely  from  every  point  of  view.  Last 
night,  for  example,  he  heard  the  Admiral;  he 
heard  what  the  Countess  had  to  say  about  the 
Italian  situation.  Going  farther  back,  you 
yourself  spoke  in  his  presence  of  the  sailing  of 
the  Elston  with  all  those  men  on  board." 

"I  see  what  is  in  your  mind,  Frieda,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  You  mean  we  may  be  dragged  into  it?" 

"Not  at  all,"  she  said  rather  sharply.  "We 
need  not  be  drawn  into  it  in  the  slightest  degree 
unless  we  volunteer  information  that  concerns 
no  one  but  ourselves.  Why  should  any  one 
know  that  he  came  into  possession  of  facts  here 
in  our  home?" 

' '  Such  things  are  bound  to  leak  out,  my  dear. 
The  investigation  will  be  thorough.  They  will 
go  to  the  bottom  of  this.  Of  course,  I  can  man 
age  it  so  that  we  sha'n't  come  in  for  any  pub 
licity,  but  we  can't  escape  questioning." 


136  SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON 

"And  are  we  to  admit  that  we  discussed  these 
very  grave  and  important  matters  in  his  pres 
ence?" 

"We  are  to  tell  the  truth,  Frieda.  You 
should  not  forget  that  we  spoke  of  them  in  the 
presence  of  an  officer  in  the  United  States 
Army. ' ' 

After  a  moment  she  said:  "I  daresay  you 
are  right,  Davenport.  You  are  always  right. 
I  was  only  thinking  that  in  view  of  the  fact  that 
there  is  no  proof  against  him  except  the  few 
words  overheard  by  that  man  in  front  of  the 
cafe, — well,  it  is  possible,  don't  you  see,  that 
there  may  have  been  some  horrid,  appalling 
mistake.  They  have  no  other  proof, — unless 
the  United  States  Attorney  withheld  something 
from  you. ' ' 

' '  They  have  the  best  proof  in  the  world.  He 
shot  himself,  as  you  have  said." 

She  half  closed  her  eyes.  A  queer  little 
spasm  twisted  her  lips  apart. 

"Yes,"  she  said  unsteadily,  "yes,  he  shot 
himself." 

Her  hand  was  on  the  door-knob. 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  137 

"Are  you  going  in  to  tell  her  now,  Frieda?" 

"I  must  have  a  little  time, — just  a  little,  dear. 
I  am  more  shaken  than  you  think.  I  must  have 
time  to  collect  myself.  It  will  be  very  difficult, 
Davenport.  Stay  here.  Do  not  come  unless  I 
call  to  you." 

"I  leave  it  all  to  you,  Frieda, — God  bless  you 
and  God  give  you  strength." 

The  door  closed  behind  her.  He  sat  motion 
less  for  a  long  time,  wondering  whether  he  could 
hear  her  call  to  him  with  that  door  and  doubt 
less  another  intervening.  Strange  that  she 
should  have  closed  it.  He  would  wait  a  little 
while, — a  few  minutes  only, — and  then  he  would 
open  it  and — listen. 

She  went  straight  to  her  own  room.  .  .  . 
Presently  she  lifted  the  telephone  receiver  from 
the  hook.  The  next  moment  she  replaced  it,  but 
did  not  release  it  from  her  tense  fingers. 

She  sat  rigid,  staring  at  the  instrument,  re 
solve  and  indecision  struggling  for  mastery. 
At  last  she  pushed  the  instrument  away  and 
sank  back  in  the  chair  as  if  exhausted. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  doctor  arrived  at  eight.  He  could  not 
afford  to  disregard  the  summons  of  such 
a  man  as  Davenport  Carstairs.  So  he  told  his 
wife  to  go  on  to  the  Opera  without  him;  he 
would  join  her  as  soon  as  possible, — in  fact,  it 
might  be  possible  to  get  there  before  the  over 
ture  was  ended,  or,  at  the  very  latest,  soon  after 
the  curtain  went  up.  Make  his  apologies,  and 
all  that.  This  was  an  urgent  case. 

Close  on  his  heels  came  two  men  to  see  Mr. 
Carstairs.  .  .  . 

Miss  Hansbury  was  in  a  pitiable  condition. 
For  the  better  part  of  two  hours,  Frieda  Car- 
stairs  had  been  with  her.  Every  one  else,  not 
excepting  her  uncle,  was  denied  admission  to 
the  room.  From  time  to  time,  the  sound  of 
voices  came  through  the  closed  door, — one  shrill 
and  rising  to  the  pitch  of  frenzy,  the  other  firm, 
gentle,  soothing — one  that  seemed  to  croon.  A 
sharp-eared  listener  outside  would  have  caught 

138 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  139 

an  occasional  sentence  wailed  in  the  despairing 
treble,  but  he  would  have  made  little  of  it,  for 
it  dwindled  away  into  a  smothered,  inarticulate 
jumble  of  words.  He  might  have  distinguished 
the  oft-repeated  cry : 

' '  You  know  it  isn  't  true !  You  know  it !  You 
know  it  I" 

Carstairs  grasped  the  doctor's  arm  the  in 
stant  he  entered  the  apartment. 

"For  God's  sake,  Doctor,  give  her  something 
to  quiet  her  immediately.  I — I  cannot  endure 
it.  We  should  have  waited.  I  had  no  idea  it 
would  be  like  this.  Mrs.  Carstairs  hasn't  left 
her  for  an  instant.  I  can  hear  her  moaning 
and—" 

"Is  it  this — ah — news  about  young  Steele?" 
inquired  the  doctor  blandly.  He  rubbed  his 
hands. 

"Yes — yes!  We  thought  it  best  to  tell  her 
before  she  got  it  from  the  servants,  or  the  pa 
pers,  or — " 

"Dreadful  affair, — most  shocking.  I  knew 
him  very  slightly,  but  he  seemed  a  most  delight 
ful  chap.  By  Jove,  it  is  really  distressing,  the 


140  SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON 

way  the  Germans  have  undermined  our  very — " 

"She  is  in  a  most  deplorable  condition,  Doc 
tor.  Don't  delay  an  instant,  please, — and  do 
not  leave  her  until  you  are  convinced  there  is  no 
danger  of — "  He  broke  off  abruptly. 

"Ahem!  Yes,  yes, — ah, — I'll  remain  as  long 
as — ah, — I  feel  the  least  bit  uneasy  about  her." 

"All  right,  Doctor, — if  there  is  the  remotest 
danger  of — " 

"Oh,  I  fancy  there  isn't  any  real  danger 
of  that,  Mr.  Carstairs.  Compose  yourself. 
We  '11  have  her  sleeping  like  a  baby  in  no  time 
at  all.  Had  you  an  inkling  that  Steele  was  that 
sort  of  a—" 

"And  will  you  please  send  Mrs.  Carstairs  out 
of  the  room  at  once?" 

"Yes,  yes, — immediately.  Leave  it  to  me, 
leave  it  to  me,"  and  off  he  went,  with  a  spright- 
liness  that  would  have,  surprised  his  dignity  if 
he  had  had  the  slightest  notion  at  that  moment 
that  he  still  possessed  such  a  thing. 

But  Mrs.  Carstairs  refused  to  be  sent  out  of 
the  room.  She  remained  steadfast  at  the  girl's 
side,  holding  and  stroking  her  hand. 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  141 

"I  cannot, — I  will  not  leave  her,  Doctor 
Browne,"  she  said,  compressing  her  lips. 

The  butler  apologetically  stuck  his  head  into 
Mr.  Carstairs'  study  a  few  minutes  after  the 
doctor's  arrival. 

"Sorry,  sir,  but  there's  two  gentlemen  asking 
to  see  you." 

"I  told  you  I  was  not  at  home  to  any  one, 
Hollowell.  Is  it  necessary  for  me  to  repeat 
your  instructions?" 

"No,  sir, — thank  you,  sir.  But  these  gentle 
men  say  they  must  see  you,  sir.  They  are  out 
side,  sir, — in  the  hall.  I  asked — " 

' '  Who  are  they  ?    What  is  their  business  ? ' ' 

"I  asked  both  those  questions,  sir,"  said  the 
butler,  in  evident  distress. 

"Yes,  yes, — well,  and  what  did  they  say?" 

"They  simply  said  *  Never  mind/  "  said  Hol 
lowell,  with  a  great  deal  of  feeling. 

Carstairs  stopped  suddenly  in  his  tracks. 

"I  thought  you  said  they  were  gentlemen." 

His  brow  darkened.  He  had  sensed  the 
truth.  Secret  service  men. 

"My  mistake,  sir, — my  mistake,"  mumbled 


142  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

Hollowell.  "Ahem!  I  can  only  add,  Mr.  Car- 
stairs,  that  they  seem  to  think  you  are  at  home, 
and— ah—  " 

"Conduct  them  to  this  room,"  said  Carstairs. 
A  few  minutes  later:  "Come  in,  gentlemen, 
and  be  seated.  I  suppose  you  are  here  to  as 
certain  if  I  can  throw  any  light  on  the  Derrol 
Steele  affair.  It  is  no  secret,  of  course,  that  he 
was  my  niece's  fiance,  and  that  he  was  a  con 
stant  visitor  here.  I  am  afraid,  however,  that 
I  can  be  of  no  assistance  to  you.  Captain 
Steele—" 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Carstairs,"  said  one  of  his 
visitors,  a  sharp-eyed,  clean-cut  man  of  forty, 
"but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  our  business  here  is 
really  with  Mrs.  Carstairs.  Will  you  be  good 
enough  to  ask  her  to  step  into  this  room!" 

His  companion  had  closed  the  door,  and  both 
remained  standing. 

"I  assure  you  she  knows  as  little  as  I  do  about 
this  distressing  affair.  My  niece  is  very  ill. 
She  cannot  leave  her.  You  must  allow  me, — 
for  the  present,  at  least, — to  speak  for  Mrs. 
Carstairs." 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  143 

"Deeply  as  I  regret  it,  Mr.  Carstairs,  I  must 
insist  that  your  wife — " 

"You  heard  what  I  said,  didn't  you?"  de 
manded  Carstairs  coldly.  Two  vivid  red 
blotches  shot  into  his  cheeks. 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other.  Then  the 
spokesman  gave  a  significant  jerk  of  his  head. 
His  companion  opened  the  door  and  stepped 
quickly  into  the  hall.  As  the  door  closed, 
the  one  who  remained  drew  nearer  to  Car- 
stairs. 

"In  the  first  place,  Mr.  Carstairs,  you  cannot 
speak  for  your  wife.  I  am  not  here  to  make  in 
quiries,  sir,  but  to  escort  her  to  the  offices  of  the 
United  States  Attorney,  who  will — " 

Carstairs  started  up  from  his  chair.  "What 
infernal  nonsense  is  this?" 

"I  am  afraid  it  isn't  nonsense, "  said  the 
other  quietly.  "My  instructions, — my  orders, 
I  may  say, — are  to  confront  Mrs.  Carstairs  with 
certain  charges,  in  your  presence,  by  the  way, 
— and  to  remain  in  this  apartment  until  further 
orders.  There  is  no  alternative." 

"Charges?"  gasped  Davenport  Carstairs,  in- 


144  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

credulously.  "What  do  you  mean?  What 
charges  have  been  brought  against  us?" 

"There  is  nothing  against  you,  sir.  I  am 
instructed  to  exercise  the  greatest  consideration 
for  you.  A  great  deal,  I  may  add,  is  left  to  my 
discretion,  after  all.  Your  wife,  I  am  com 
pelled  to  inform  you,  is  charged  with  a  very 
serious  offence.  In  plain  words,  we  have  indis 
putable  proof  that  she  is  and  has  been  for  sev 
eral  years  in  direct  communication  with  the 
German  Government  through — ' 

"It  is  a  damned,  outrageous  lie!"  shouted 
Carstairs,  furiously.  "How  dare  you  come 
here—" 

"Just  a  moment,  please,"  interrupted  the 
other  sharply.  "My  instructions  are  to  treat 
you  with  the  utmost  respect  and  consideration. 
I  must  ask  you  to  accord  me  the  same  treatment. 
Will  you  send  for  your  wife,  or  must  I  resort 
to  the  authority  that — " 

"For  God's  sake,  man, — wait!  Let  me  get 
this  thing  through  my  head.  I — I — will  try  to 
control  myself.  There  has  been  some  terrible 
mistake.  Let  us  discuss  the  matter  calmly.  I 


SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON  145 

can  explain  everything.  We  must  spare  her 
the  mortification,  the  humiliation  of  being — 
Why,  my  dear  sir,  it  would— -kill  her.  She 
would  not  survive  the — " 

The  agent  held  up  his  hand.  "  There  is  no 
mistake.  It  may  be  possible  to  spare  her  the 
disgrace,  the  ignominy  of  public  exposure. 
That,  sir,  rests  with  her — and  with  you.  We 
recognize  your  position,  Mr.  Carstairs.  There 
is  a  disposition  on  the  part  of  the  authorities 
to  protect  you.  With  that  object  in  view,  I  am 
instructed  to  grant  Mrs.  Carstairs  the  privilege 
of  remaining  in  her  own  room  until  tomorrow 
morning.  We  are  to  take  no  definite  action  to 
night,  unless,  of  course,  you  and  she  decide  that 
it  is  best  for  her  to  accompany  me  to  the — er — 
to  headquarters.  It  is  up  to  you  and  Mrs.  Car- 
stairs,  sir." 

Davenport  Carstairs  was  a  strong,  virile 
character.  He  possessed  the  arrogance  born  of 
power  and  a  confidence  in  himself  that  had 
never  been  shaken.  His  home  was  his  strong 
hold,  his  wife  its  treasure.  In  his  serene 
strength  he  could  not  conceive  of  discredit  fall- 


146  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

ing  upon  either.  Instead  of  faltering,  now  that 
the  first  shock  had  been  weathered,  he  drew 
himself  up  and  faced  the  situation  with  a  cour 
age  that  excited  the  wonder  and  admiration  of 
the  man  who  came  with  evil  tidings. 

"Be  seated,"  said  he,  indicating  a  chair. 
The  man  sat  down.  "You  may  be  partially  if 
not  entirely  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  these 
charges.  Am  I  right  in  assuming  that  you  are 
not  at  liberty  to  discuss  them  with  me?" 

t  '  On  the  contrary,  Mr.  Carstairs,  I  have  been 
advised  to  do  nothing  until  I  have  talked  the 
matter  over  with  you.  I  am  in  possession  of  all 
the  facts." 

"Is  the  department  content  to  allow  me  to 
pass  judgment  on  my  wife?"  inquired  Car- 
stairs,  with  a  touch  of  irony.  He  maintained  a 
calm  exterior, — at  what  cost  no  one  but  he  will 
ever  know.  The  secret  service  man  made  no 
response.  "In  any  case,  I  shall  have  to  ask 
you  to  explain  everything  to  me  before  permit 
ting  you  to  approach  my  wife." 

The  agent,  who  shall  be  called  Jones,  nodded 
his  head,  and  then  leaned  forward  in  his  chair. 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  147 

"A  man  named  Hodges  was  in  your  employ 
as  a  butler  up  to  a  fortnight  ago.  He  had 
worked  for  you  exactly  seven  weeks  and  one 
day.  Do  you  know  where  he  came  from  and 
who  he  really  was,  Mr.  Carstairs?" 

"No.  Mrs.  Carstairs  engages  the  servants 
here.  Are  you  going  to  tell  me  that  he  was  a 
German  spy?" 

"Far  from  it,  sir.  He  was  a  British  secret 
service  agent.  His  name  was  Bridgef  ord.  He 
was  killed  by  an  automobile,  but  not  accidentally 
as  you  have  been  led  to  believe.  We  have  been 
looking  for  the  driver  of  that  car  for  two  weeks. 
Last  night  we  got  him.  He  has  confessed. 
Since  six  o'clock  this  evening  three  other  men 
have  been  arrested, — all  subordinate  figures  in 
the  game.  Before  morning  we  expect  to  land 
at  least  one  or  two  of  the  principal  members  of 
the  shrewdest  gang  of  spies  operating  in  the 
name  and  interest  of  the  Kaiser." 

"Including  my  wife,"  said  Carstairs,  lifting 
his  eyebrows. 

Jones  allowed  the  remark  to  pass  without 
comment. 


148  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

"Bridgeford, — or  Hodges,  as  you  knew  him, 
— was  sent  to  this  city  from  London.  For  a 
long  time  he  worked  independently.  A  few 
days  before  his  death,  we  received  instructions 
from  Washington  to  get  in  touch  with  him. 
That  was  the  first  we  knew  of  him,  I'll  confess. 
The  British  Foreign  Office  advised  our  depart 
ment  that  he  had  finally  got  hold  of  something 
big  and  tangible.  But  evidently  the  German 
Foreign  Office  also  was  wise  to  him.  He  re 
ported  to  us  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  he  was 
killed.  He  said  that  the  time  was  not  yet  ripe 
to  take  positive  steps,  but  that  he  would  soon 
have  the  goods  on  four  or  five  prominent  people. 
He  gave  us  the  names  of  these  people.  Two  of 
them  he  was  sure  about,  the  others  were  in 
doubt.  Believe  me,  they  were  prominent.  We 
were  to  hold  off  till  he  said  the  word.  That 
night  he  was  killed.  But  they  didn  't  do  it  soon 
enough.  We  had  all  his  data,  incomplete  as  it 
was,  and  we've  followed  it  up.  That's  why  I 
am  here  this  evening. ' ' 
He  paused ;  and  Carstairs  said,  harshly : 
1 ' Well,  go  on, — why  do  you  hesitate ?" 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  149 

"We  know  now;*  beyond  all  possible  doubt, 
that  information  of  the  most  vital  character  has 
reached  the  German  Admiralty  and  the  Foreign 
Office  through  Mrs.  Carstairs,"  said  Jones  de 
liberately. 

"I  may  be  pardoned  if  I  repeat  that  it  is  a 
damned  lie,"  said  Carstairs,  gripping  the  arms 
of  his  chair. 

"You  have  said  just  what  you  were  expected 
to  say,  Mr.  Carstairs.  Before  I  have  finished, 
however,  you  will  realize  that  it  is  not  a  damned 
lie.  I  am  authorized  to  exhibit  certain  memo 
randa  from  the  Department.  You  will  then 
agree  with  us  that  the  information  came 
from  this  house, — from  this  apartment,  in 
fact." 

"In  the  light  of  what  happened  last  night,  I 
may  go  so  far  as  to  concede  that  such  may  have 
been  the  case.  Permit  me  to  remind  you  of  the 
suicide  of  Captain — " 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  struck  by  the  expres 
sion  in  the  other's  face.  Jones  shook  his  head 
slowly.  There  was  genuine  distress  in  his  voice 
when  he  spoke. 


150  SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON 

"Captain  Steele  was  murdered,  Mr.  Car- 
stairs,"  he  said.  "He  did  not  kill  himself." 

Carstairs  sprang  to  his  feet.  For  an  instant 
a  flash  of  joy  transfigured  his  face. 

"By  'gad,  I  knew  it, — I  knew  it!  I  would 
have  staked  my  soul  on  that  boy's  honour. 
Murdered?  My  God!  And  for  what  hellish 
purpose  is  his  name  blackened  by  the  foul  re 
ports  given  to  the  press  by  your — " 

"A  very  grave  injustice  has  been  done  an 
honourable  gentleman,"  interrupted  Jones, 
with  real  feeling.  "Captain  Steele  was  mur 
dered  by  assassins  in  the  employ  of  persons  con 
nected  with  the  German  Government.  When  I 
have  finished  my  story, — I  shall  make  it  brief, 
— you  will  understand  that,  far  from  being  a 
traitor  to  his  country,  Derrol  Steele  was  a  pa 
triot  who  would  not  have  hesitated  to  denounce 
— "  He  withheld  the  words  that  rose  to  his 
lips  in  vindication  of  the  maligned  officer.  "A 
careful  search  of  his  rooms  today  resulted  in 
the  discovery  of  a  document  in  his  own  hand 
writing,  written  after  he  left  your  apartment 
last  night,  and  put  under  lock  and  key  some  time 


1 


SHOT  WITH  CEIMSON  151 

prior  to  the  arrival  of  the  assassins.  I  have  a 
copy  of  it  with  me.  You  will  observe  that  he 
does  not  make  definite  accusations  against  any 
one,  and  that  he  employs  initials  only  in  desig 
nating  the  persons  involved.  He  goes  no 
farther  than  to  express  his  own  misgivings,  his 
suspicions  and  certain  observations  that  prove 
how  keenly  alive  he  was  to  the — real  situation. 
Sit  down,  Mr.  Carstairs,  and  look  over  these 
papers.  Begin  here,  sir, — with  the  data  ob 
tained  by  the  man  you  knew  as  Hodges.  I  beg 
to  assure  you,  in  advance,  that  my  superiors 
entertain  no  thought  that  you  were  at  any  time 
cognizant  of  what  has  been  going  on  in  your 
own  home,  and  there  is  the  profoundest  desire 
on  their  part  to  spare  you — " 
'  '  Enough,  sir !  Let  me  see  the  papers. ' ' 
"Just  a  moment,  please.  There  is  one  gap 
in  the  sequence  of  events  leading  up  to  the  death 
of  Captain  Steele.  We  are  confident  that  the 
leaders  of  this  great  conspiracy  were  warned 
late  last  night  that  Captain  Steele  suspected  a 
certain  person,  but  we  have  been  unable  to  dis 
cover  by  what  means,  or  through  whom,  this 


152  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

warning  was  delivered.  The  men  under  arrest, 
with  the  exception  of  the  chauffeur,  absolutely 
refuse  to  make  a  statement  of  any  kind,  and  he, 
we  are  confident,  does  not  know  who  the  go- 
between  was.  All  he  knows, — or  thinks,  at 
least, — is  that  he  and  his  pals  were  double- 
crossed  last  night  by — well,  by  Mrs.  Carstairs." 

Davenport  Carstairs  read  the  papers  placed 
in  his  hands  by  the  Secret  Service  man.  One 
by  one,  they  fell  from  his  stiff,  trembling  fin 
gers,  fluttering  to  the  floor,  each  in  its  succeed 
ing  turn.  At  the  end,  he  looked  not  into  Jones 's 
eyes,  but  past  them,  and  from  his  own  the  light 
was  gone. 

"Will  you  ask  your  wife  to  come  in  now,  Mr. 
Carstairs!"  said  Jones,  a  trifle  unsteadily. 

Carstairs  stared  at  him  for  a  moment,  un- 
seeingly.  Then  he  passed  his  hand  over  his 
eyes  as  if  to  clear  them  of  something  revolting. 
The  moment  was  tense,  spasmodic,  prophetic  of 
approaching  collapse.  The  strength  and  cour 
age  and  confidence  of  the  man  had  sustained  a 
shock  that  made  ruin  of  them  all.  He  won- 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  153 

dered  dumbly  whether  he  would  ever  have  the 
power  and  the  desire  to  lift  his  head  again  and 
look  into  the  eye  of  this  man  who  sat  there  with 
him.  The  whole  fabric  of  existence  was  torn  to 
shreds  by  the  merciless  revelations  contained 
in  the  papers  he  had  read  with  the  steel  in  his 
heart.  They  were  complete,  irrefutable  indict 
ments.  There  was  no  such  thing  as  going  be 
hind  them.  Steele's  blighting  conjectures  sud 
denly  became  truths  of  the  most  appalling  na 
ture  ;  the  astonishing  record  of  Hodges  the  but 
ler  laid  bare  a  multitude  of  secrets;  the  brief, 
almost  laconic  summing-up  of  facts  in  the  pos 
session  of  the  Department  took  the  heart  out  of 
his  body  and  scorched  it  with  conviction, — for 
he  knew  that  the  Secret  Eye  had  looked  into  the 
very  soul  of  the  woman  he  loved  and  cherished 
and  trusted.  .  .  . 

"If  you  do  not  object,  I  will  speak  with  her 
— alone, "  said  he,  lifelessly.  He  struggled  to 
his  feet,  and,  by  the  mightiest  effort  of  the  will, 
lifted  his  head  and  fixed  his  haggard  eyes  upon 
the  face  of  the  man  who  had  cast  the  bomb  at  his 


154  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

feet: — a  far  more  potent  agent  of  destruction 
than  any  that  Germany  herself  had  ever  hurled ! 
It  was  to  destroy  heaven  and  earth  for  him. 

Jones,  cleared  his  throat, 

"That  is  for  you  to  decide,  Mr.  Carstairs," 
he  said,  and  there  was  something  significant  in 
his  voice  and  manner.  "Will  you  take  these 
documents — " 

"No.  I  do  not  wish  her  to  see  them.  Be 
good  enough  to  step  into  the  drawing-room, — 
and  wait.  This  way — through  this  door.  And 
please  call  your  companion.  It  is  not  neces 
sary  for  him  to  stand  guard  over  her.  You 
have  my  word  that  she  shall  not  escape." 

"We  are  to  respect  your  wishes  in  every  par 
ticular,  Mr.  Carstairs.  The  authorities  appre 
ciate  your  position.  It  is  their  desire  to  spare 
you,  if  possible,  the  disgrace,  the  pain — "  He 
stopped. 

"I  think  I  understand,"  said  Davenport  Car- 
stairs  slowly.  A  moment  later  he  was  alone. 

Presently  he  unlocked  and  opened  a  small 
drawer  in  his  desk.  He  took  out  something  that 
glittered,  examined  it  carefully,  and  then  stuck 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  155 

it  into  his  coat  pocket.  His  jaws  were  set;  in 
his  eyes  lay  the  hard,  cold  light  of  steel. 

He  did  not  falter. 

She  had  not  been  fair  with  him,  but  he  would 
be  fair  with  her.  He  would  stand  by  her  to  the 
end.  .  .  .  She  should  have  her  chance.  He 
would  see  to  it  that  the  newspapers, — and  the 
world, — dealt  kindly  with  her.  He  had  loved 
her. 

If  possible,  he  would  see  to  it  that  he  was  the 
only  one  in  all  the  world  to  hate  her. 

He  went  to  her  room. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

FAR  in  the  night  he  said  to  her : 
"It  is  the  only  way.  I  shall  leave  you 
to  yourself  now,  Frieda.  The  rest  is  with  God 
and  you.  Tomorrow  morning  they  will  take 
you  away.  They  may — they  probably  will 
shoot  you  as  a  spy.  I  cannot  save  you, — noth 
ing  that  I  can  do  will  be  of  avail  in  turning  aside 
or  tempering  the  wrath  of  Justice." 

She  sat,  limply,  with  bowed  head.  Her  fine 
body  seemed  to  have  shrivelled;  emptied  of  its 
vitality,  it  had  shrunk  as  with  age  before  his 
eyes.  Everything  that  had  fed  her  blood  for 
years  seeped  away,  leaving  a  waste  of  sunken 
flesh :  pride,  arrogance,  defiance,  and,  last  of  all, 
fury, — all  had  gone  out  of  the  house  of  her  soul. 
There  was  nothing  left  but  the  pitiful  thing 
called  life. 

She  raised  her  eyes. 

"I  cannot  take  your  way  out,  Davenport, " 
she  said  dully. 

156 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  157 

He  pointed  to  the  revolver  he  had  laid  on  her 
dressing-table. 

"That,  Frieda,  is  the  only  friend  you  have  in 
all  this  world  tonight. " 

"Oh,  my  God!  Are  you  heartless?  Have 
you  no  pity,  no  love,  no — ' ' 

i  1 1  have  pity, — nothing  more.  Love  ?  I  have 
given  you  love  for  twenty  years  and  more. 
You  have  defiled  it.  Do  not  speak  of  love  I" 

"You  know  I  love  you — you  know  I  would  die 
for  you  a  thousand  times  over.  You  are  my 
man, — my  master,  my — " 

"Enough,  Frieda !  You  have  played  a  great 
game, — but  an  ignoble  one, — and  you  have  lost. 
You  have  begged  me  to — to  become  your  execu 
tioner.  You  ask  me  to  kill  you.  You — " 

"I  do  not  ask  it  now,"  she  broke  in,  looking 
him  full  in  the  eye.  "Go,  Davenport.  Leave 
me  to  myself.  Thank  you  for — for  being  kind 
to  me  tonight, — after  all.  I  have  told  you  the 
truth, — you  know  everything  that  my  conscience 
permits  me  to  reveal.  You  know  more  than 
that  man  who  sits  out  there  like  a  vulture,  wait 
ing  for — waiting  for  me.  What  I  have  con- 


158  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

fessed  to  you  I  would  die  a  thousand  times  over 
rather  than  confess  to  another  living  soul. 
They  could  take  me  away  tonight  and  torture 
me  till  I  died,  and  not  one  word  of  what  I  have 
said  to  you  would  pass  my  lips.  They  know 
enough,  but  you  alone  know  all.  You  say  the 
world  will  never  know  what  I  have  done.  I  do 
not  care.  Let  the  world  know.  I  am  proud  of 
my  blood — I  rejoice  in  the  little  I  have  been  able 
to  do  for—  " 

' ' Hush!    Do  not  say  it." 

"Very  well.  It  hurts  you.  I  do  not  want  to 
hurt  you  now,  husband.  The  world  is  to  believe 
that  I — that  an  accident — a  sudden — "  She 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  Her  body  shook. 

"I  would  spare  your  son,  Frieda,"  said  he. 

She  looked  up,  dry-eyed.  A  quick  flash, — 
could  it  have  been  of  joy? — lighted  her  haggard 
face. 

"Yes,  yes, — he  must  be  spared,"  she  cried. 
A  deep,  inscrutable  expression  came  into  her 
eyes.  She  drew  a  deep,  full  breath.  "Thank 
God!  He  is  young, — he  has  a  long  and  useful 
life  to  live.  I  gave  it  him.  That  is  the  best,  the 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  159 

biggest  thing  I  have  done.     Now,  go,  Daven 
port.    Shall  we  say — good-night  ? ' ' 

The  following  day, — in  the  noon  issues — all 
of  the  New  York  evening  papers  printed,  under 
varied  headlines,  the  details,  so  far  as  available, 
of  the  shocking  accident  which  resulted  in  the 
death  of  Mrs.  Davenport  Carstairs.  She  had 
fallen  from  a  window  in  her  bed-chamber  to 
the  brick-paved  courtyard  ten  stories  below. 
Death  was  instantaneous.  "  Accidental, "  was 
the  prompt  decision  of  the  coroner. 

Deduction  readily  established  the  fact.  Mrs. 
Carstairs  must  have  become  ill  in  the  night.  A 
bottle  of  smelling  salts  was  found  on  the  floor 
near  the  window  which  was  open  to  the  full. 
Evidently,  she  had  gone  to  the  window  for  air. 
After  opening  it  wide,  a  sudden  faintness  or 
dizziness  caused  her  to  topple  forward.  .  .  . 
Before  retiring  for  the  night,  she  had  com 
plained  to  her  husband  of  a  dull,  throbbing 
headache,  due,  no  doubt,  to  anxiety  over  the 
alarming  illness  of  her  niece,  Miss  Hansbury. 
.  .  .  Sometime  after  one  o'clock,  Mr.  Carstairs, 


160  SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON 

in  the  adjoining  bed-room,  heard  her  moaning 
as  if  in  pain.  He  arose  instantly  and  opened 
the  connecting  door.  She  was  lying  on  her 
bed,  and,  in  response  to  his  inquiry,  begged  him 
not  to  worry  about  her.  Dr.  Browne,  called  in 
to  attend  Miss  Hansbury,  had  decided  to  re 
main  for  the  night.  He  was  lying  down  in  a 
guest-chamber,  and  had  fallen  asleep. 

Uneasy  over  his  wife's  condition,  Mr.  Car- 
stairs  awoke  the  physician  and  together  they 
returned  to  her  room.  A  knock  on  the  door 
brought  no  response, — but  some  relief  in  the 
thought  that  she  was  asleep.  The  husband 
opened  the  door  slightly  and  listened.  There 
was  no  sound.  He  entered  the  room,  which  was 
dark,  and  approached  the  bed.  Then,  he  called 
out  to  the  doctor  to  switch  on  the  lights.  .  .  . 
A  cold  icy  draft, — the  Night- Wind, — rushing 
into  the  room  through  the  open  window.  .  .  . 

Continuing,  the  papers  spoke  profoundly  of 
the  great  loss  to  society,  of  the  qualities  that 
made  Mrs.  Davenport  Carstairs  one  of  the  most 
sincerely  beloved  women  in  all  the  great  city, 
of  her  prominence  in  the  conduct  of  important 


SHOT  WITH  CRIMSON  161 

war  charities  and  reliefs,  of  her  unswerving  de 
votion  to  the  cause  for  which  America  and  her 
sons  were  fighting,  of  her  manifold  charms  and 
graces.  Her  untimely  death  created  a  void 
that  could  never  be  filled.  Eulogy  upon  eulogy ! 

Among  the  hundreds  of  telegrams  of  con 
dolence  received  by  Davenport  Carstairs  was 
one  from  Mr.  Paul  Zimmerlein,  couched  in  most 
exquisite  terms,  conveying  tribute  to  the  dead 
and  sympathy  to  the  living.  It  was  sent  on  the 
second  day  from  the  smart  club  to  which  he  be 
longed;  on  the  third  flowers  went  up  with  his 
card.  .  .  . 

As  business  went  on  as  usual  at  the  offices  of 
Mr.  Paul  Zimmerlein,  it  would  be  sheer  pre 
sumption  to  even  suggest  that  this  unhappy 
chronicle  has  reached 


THE  END 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


REC'D  LD 


JUH  2  7  1959 


D-JT 


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S£P2    1Q74 


General  Library 


$22166 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


